A Blank Page

My life was quite a blank page, before you wrote this story; Then what I see was an image, drawn there to be a memory. I kept the page and would read, everything that was written; She filled it, and I did not need, anything more to be smitten. Suddenly, I noticed her feeling, tended to play with my heart; And I continued to her writing, it was different from the start. Her story was washed in tears, before I could finish reading; Then I folded it, but with fears, reminding myself her heading. The story proved to be a mirage, and then faded away slowly; My life, still a white blank page, has no painting, and memory.