Never fall in love with a writer, My father used to say.
For he will make you his muse and write of the blissful
moments once shared but also of the feuds with spite
in his words and aggression with each swift movement
of his wrist down to the words that twist.
He may love you without a doubt but never more than the
words he may write, the ink spilled nor the pens he has
touched with his ink stained fingers on a paper once so plain.
He may have been wounded in the past and you will have to be the one to save his broken heart but never risk your self in the process my love because maybe the few bad things in life is good for a writers touch.
