She received the book,
and it was bound in a lattice cloth
with her name woven at the top.
Inside: you are still the person that I love.
Outside: a beating heart,
a thrown-off start
This is for you.
And she ate up all the pages,
all the insane inscriptions, cursive letters,
pictures and stories
pouring out like a deep breath–
they wrote out all the things she’s ever felt or said
from the very beginning of memory.
The book: you have been connected from the start–
you, and all the untouched that you guard.
So this is for you.
If it was all somehow collected and packaged up
to be given to you like a gift,
it would arrive to you like this.