𝟮𝟲. ❛I THE WRITER, YOU THE WORDS❜

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In the silence of my chamber, I write,

With ink of longing and paper white,

Each stroke a plea, each word a sigh,

Etching tales of a love that cannot fly.


For you, my heart beats a desperate tune,

But yours, alas, sings another croon.

I pen my dreams, my hopes, my fears,

Yet you remain distant, beyond my tears.


In every verse, your essence I seek,

In every stanza, your voice I speak.

But you're the untouchable, the distant star,

While I, the dreamer, trapped afar.


Your absence paints the canvas of my nights,

A shadowed figure in love's dim lights.

I spin my tales, yet you're the plot,

The unwritten ending that I've sought.


I might be the writer, crafting lines divine,

But you'll always be the words, the elusive rhyme.

In this tragic tale of love's cruel art,

I'll forever be the poet, and you, my heart.

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