I promise to write till I have no words with me.
I will write till I've exceeded my limit and can no longer do no more.
And even once my hands are unable to write, I will stay loyal to you.
I will admire the art that you are.

At my lowest,
You held my hands and listened to my withering heart.
You locked eyes with my darkest holes and smiled.
You gave me a pen and whispered, "Write.Anywhere, colour your pain and let me feel it"

During my drought,
We fought.
Countless of times.
I began to lose hope in us but you stayed.
You pushed pens, pencils and papers in my direction and told me to write.
"Good or bad just write, I'm not here to judge", you sang to me.
But I refused.
Blocking your lullaby because I was afraid.
Afraid that I would let you down if it was bad.
I only wanted the best for you.
The best from me.

The drought got worse.
I couldn't write and my heart ached
My souls cried,
My hands itched.
I was craving you.
So I wrote.
Good or bad because ultimately
You won't judge me.

During my moments of happiness.
I wrote a lot,
I wrote till the tips of my hands turned purple.
Till I could feel my own heart beat synchronise with the movement of the pen.
Till my arm cried in pain as my triceps and biceps contracted and relaxed.
I could not stop.
I simply still cannot stop.

You watched me write.
You watched my body grow in anticipation.
Grow anxious to touch a pen.
You smiled and whispered to me
"You're finally writing your heart"

I turned back and looked at you.
Engraved with people's lives.
Coloured with their greatest dreams and nightmares.
Inked with so much of their emotions.

I laughed and turned back.
Jotted down so gracefully.
"She is my heart"