The Hollow Shell ✔️

Paper

•.* Paper

You know that void feeling when you're thinking about just writing everything that you felt, but when you face the paper, you couldn't even touch the pen?

A writer writes what he imagines. A poet writes what he feels.

It's not acting out of impulse for someone to write all his raw feelings. It's expression.

Raw anger will most definitely scratch the paper. The hatred that he feels when he writes all of this. The mind doesn't do the talking, but the anger does. No matter how much more strokes of a pen he makes, let him. Because raw anger is dangerous.

Passion has the same pace as anger. The passionate the strokes are, the more beautiful it is like a painting on canvas. Infatuation, admiration, love and obsession are written down on paper with no secrets hidden, whatsoever.

Sadness is as smooth as silk, and as hard as diamonds. They aren't in a hurry to finish writing. But the ink drops like fresh tears, fresh blood. Every pain, every sorrow, every loss poured out like blood from a wound, or tears from the eyes.

And here I am, with a smooth empty paper in front of me, and with my untouched pen. I didn't know which feelings to choose as I write, because you brought out every aching feeling I had. You made me angry, you made me love, and you made me cry. With you, I needed more than just a piece of paper.