the impurities

iii. diary

I write your name in red ink. Thousands, thousands, thousands of words written in black ink—and one word tears through the pages. Wasted pages that become so heavy with your name they sink into the ocean. Now you will choke on salt. My black ink has run dry, and the words fade—leaving only you. I am confined to blank pages. They stare back at me, and I cannot stand their cleanliness. I write your name in red ink.