They say the pen is mightier than the sword If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist. And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk, And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy. But you needed me and I craved you for completion. Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels. We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey. But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out. I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly. You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines but you no longer had it in you. And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful. You had run out. And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.