I thought I could walk away from writing by falling in love.
I have not touched a piece of paper in so long, I forgot how it felt between my fingers, and even what it smelled like.
Now my heart is hurting and I run to the paper. A lover that simply sat and waited on a desk, collecting dust.
I could be rejected from paper, but He opens up to me.
'I have missed you,' He says.
His perfect lines as straight as before I left.
'Ive been gone too long. May I.....?' I pull out my wooden ink pen.
The paper suddenly sticks to the desk.
'Of course. Always for you.'
I lightly touch the paper with the tip, and my mind is already flowing out the hurt and pain. All my feelings have pulsed through my bloodstream, into my fingertips and to the end point of the writing utensil.
My pen scratches, and I can already feel the two of us sighing, releasing against one another