John's blog: "poems"

With carefully placed ink stained fingertips he
flipped,page by page through his thoughts of her.
some held flowers, kept to remind him of the beauty
she brought into his life.
Others bearing napkins, register reciepts, anything he
could use to capture those moments, and there were
alot of them.
As the books end grew near the words turned dark,
black ink smudged languidly with salty tears.
He looked down, "for her" it said.
The last two words of her book.
A chapter in his, written in red.