I stay awake longer than I should be; my eyes are wide open yet my mind is an empty canvas. My plams itched for words—Words that I couldn't seemed to find. And yes, I feel the need to scribble down poetic words, but then again, somehow I couldn't. Nothing fuels my heart, nothing elicits. And then it hits me—I was only a poet because you were my poem. Now that you're gone, I'm just me.
-1:06 am
