When she's happy,
she writes
When she's sad,
she writes
When she's hurt,
she writes
When she misses,
she writes
When there is no wink of sleep in the middle of the night,
she still get in touch with her ink and a paper
She has found her hiding palace,
in the hands of her beautiful black diary
She has found comfort,
in the fascinating creation of her pen
That exquisite glance she get everytime she get in touch with her writings,
gives her a new breeze out of nature
The feeling of having to express her feeling without judgement,
gives her new outlook on life
Words are her chariots
Inks are her swords
Writting is the stain in her veins