Every time I write down something
I wonder who will come to know of it
Will this tattered composition book land in the Library of Congress?
Or will it see its end in the garbage heap behind my apartment building?
Will my thoughts and creations capture minds?
Will they fuel rage, sadness, joy, or any emotion?
Perhaps someone will continue the written conversation?
My goofy hello could transform into a game of tic-tac-toe?
Will the endless scribbles turn into exaggerated clues for a hidden treasure?
Or could my name and writing become a documented search for my life?
All possible ventures,
But maybe in 10 years,
I’ll simply unfold the yellowed pages
And day-dream about the simpler times.