on this day.

filled cafe napkins.

xxii. FILLED CAFE NAPKINS.

i write with pen
because the way the ink bleeds through
is soft spoken

and obnoxiously loud all at the same time

it matches my words
how one line is wholeheartedly the truth
and the next is anger that bubbles under my fingertips

it's whenever i'm writing of you
that the ink stays perfectly where i had placed it
and my sloppy cursive no longer bleeds
but stays a thin line

and it made me realize
that whenever i'm writing about you
with the black ink from a ballpoint pen
it's metaphorically painful
yet mesmerizingly  beautiful

and i hope with each word you continue to speak
i never run out of this ink
for when i ask to repeat yourself
i know it'll never
come out as captivating
as you had once
spoke it
to be.