The click of a brass pen,
worn-in with years of writing.
A life etched with its ink,
in letters composed during late nights.
There is no distance my letters won't reach.
When we meet again,
we will pick up where we left off.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 9:23 PM UTC
The click of a brass pen,
worn-in with years of writing.
A life etched with its ink,
in letters composed during late nights.
There is no distance my letters won't reach.
When we meet again,
we will pick up where we left off.