A fateful night,
I was restless,
Sleep fleeting my young eyes.
So I rose from bed,
And to my desk I sat.
My pen curled in my fingers,
I wrote.
I wrote of a girl,
Made of spare paper,
And discarded ink.
But never did I guess,
My writing would come true.
Yet come next morning before me lay,
A paper girl with inky eyes.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
A fateful night,
I was restless,
Sleep fleeting my young eyes.
So I rose from bed,
And to my desk I sat.
My pen curled in my fingers,
I wrote.
I wrote of a girl,
Made of spare paper,
And discarded ink.
But never did I guess,
My writing would come true.
Yet come next morning before me lay,
A paper girl with inky eyes.
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