‘It’s better when it’s quiet.’
Between a laptop, a cup of coffee
And a ton of indiscernible emotions,
He fumbled for lighter themes,
Quieter proceedings
And tastier imagery.
But it all felt wrong.
‘Also make it short. Make it sweet.’
No. It might end up schmaltzy.
‘Alright. What about making it rhyme?’
No. It will be more of a crime.
‘Meter? Syllable count?’
No. No. No
‘They say you should write like you talk.’
Yeah. But then it would be all whining and pessimism.
‘Who cares? It will still be you.’
Does it have to be me?
‘Isn't it more satisfying when it is you? ‘
Right. After all, it’s for me. Not for them.
But it should not be quiet. It should not be subtle.
It should not be short either. It should overflow.
It should be angry. It should be an explosion.
He cracked his knuckles, made up his mind.
He was always loud and open.