Graphite Hearts

You gave me a page out of your journal today.
Handed me a crumpled paper with your heart drawn in the slightest trace of pencil.
It was worn and wrinkled.
But I swear I never saw gray so vibrant.
I smiled as you told me everything looks better in graphite.
That those marks came long ago from hard rock.
And well, I never expected a fresh sheet.
I couldn't put it up to my ears and hear it beat.
So I had to settle for digesting you with my eyes -
carrying around your graphite heart on loose leaf in my right pocket.
Next to prizes from McDonald's happy meals.
I know it took you so much effort to tear from your spiral back spine.
I wanted the song, not just the lyrics.
But I know you've buried your headphones in stacked crates in dark closets.
Next to skeletons,
And its hard to find the light switch.
But you gave me your graphite heart.
And I apologize if I made you feel it wasn't enough.
I know that paper is fragile -
That your scared I might erase the very traces of you from it.
But I deal with the smudges,
And go over it in ink.
Cuz I think we could become permanent.