Dear Pages Poem by Princess Bernadette Anillo

I had a letter underneath my lamp
As I slouch on my head board
It was crumpled and old, these stories that I've told
Of what's it like to be young and bored

I have lift up the page and a name said Roberto
the monicker of the same stories I left
without a period to end, a long lost friend
Who spent up all the stationary I kept

For what's here for me, is all that is forgotten
Like the ink blotted with mixed liquids
From the pen, to the sweat, to tears and the dew
I should have this letter saying 'these'
Till there's nothing I could do.

Dear you, creeping in my message boxes
Crisped pages of the past I loved
For once I folded you once more
Means, until now, I do not have enough.