That girl, that person of flawed art, as you call her- who is she? Who is the one you think of when you write? What is the shape of your thoughts when your ink-stained fingers draw pen across paper? The color of your words? Are they the color of a certain pair of eyes, or is your subject simply imagination? Don't lie to yourself, now.
Even if you don't want to, write of her. Write of her hair and her whispers until your notebook pages are dark with text, and then if you still don't want to be in love, burn it. Watch the pages curl and smoke. Be free of her. Forget.
YOU ARE READING
Poems and One-Shots
PoetryI don't think I'm ever going to post a full story on here, but I like to write little things. Hope you enjoy.
