P.s I'm A Writing Dead.

Untidy Work.

You were like pages,white as milk and I was a pencil with a sharp point. I wrote grammar of your beauty, equations of our love but that day, I hate that day. I made so many mistakes, keep on scribbling, cancellations. I forgot you always loved neat work. All these while I've been searching for that eraser, which could erase all my mistakes, scribbling and cancellations.But by the time when I found that eraser, I lost all those pages.