The Last Page

As I write the last page of my journal,

I take the time to remember how it was once empty.

Only a stack of plain, boring paper, devoid of anything personal.

Now, it's become quite the opposite to me, colorful and friendly.

A perfect listener for all my adventures,

Bold, nerve-wracking or fun.

Regardless, it listens to my lectures,

And does not rest until I'm done.

Many more feelings included,

Are written throughout the journey.

Every detail carefully recorded,

Like chapters to my own story.

Words that have no one to be told to,

Instead, being narrated to smooth, white sheets of paper,

Each letter holds unspoken value,

To the author and perhaps the future reader.

But don't get me wrong, a book completed,

Doesn't mean the story is done.

A sequel is to be written,

With many more chapters to come.