missing pages

maybe love was written there once

before the ink faded

i go back and read it all again

wondering if it was something i missed

i search the margins sometimes

hoping love was written small enough

to be overlooked

the ink is blurred here

maybe from tears

maybe from time

some pages smell like coffee

others like rain

but the missing ones

i imagine smell like home

i think love was supposed to happen

somewhere between

learning how to leave

and learning how to stay

maybe i was meant to be loved there

maybe the longing swallowed them whole

maybe, just maybe

the missing pages are still there

buried somewhere beneath the ache