Side by side on a bed. It was the first anniversary.
The trip was my present, while you handed me a black book. In it were familiar stories, musings I've already read. Your entries for the past year, now in black and white. But the last page was new. Weird, it was another first: me reading your thoughts while you watched on.
"Now look at me," said the last line.
With a puzzled look, I turned to my left and you mouthed...
"I love you."
That black book must be gathering dust now, along with the little things and notes you gave me. Or perhaps they've long found their repose in the dumps.
It's been more than a year since I dropped them off at your dorm, one night when you chose to go out with your students rather than settle things with me.
No more black book. No more you. No more drama...