The Pages of My Notebook

The pages of my notebook are filled.
Not with poems or stories but with beginnings of them.
I flip through, page by page, counting;
One sentence, two, one, three, two, four, one...
On and on.
I used to fill my notebooks with magic, a princess, true love, romance.
Every page would be covered with words and ideas.
My notebooks used to be full of poetry and creativity.
Now, every page is full of nothing.
I used to pour my heart out on those pages,
but one must first know one's heart before pouring it.
The pages of my notebook used to inspire me with their emptiness like a blank canvas.
Now, they stare back at me, reflecting what I fell inside me.
The page of my notebook are empty.