Don’t become a writer
You will write down how their eyes twinkled
Or the way they said your name
You will describe how their touch felt upon your bare skin
You will write down the details of your first kiss
How the sky was painted pink and purple
How the wind danced through trees
How the world faded from view
Don’t become a writer
Because their memory will live on through words you write
And when they’re gone
They’re still telling you how to write
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
Don’t become a writer
You will write down how their eyes twinkled
Or the way they said your name
You will describe how their touch felt upon your bare skin
You will write down the details of your first kiss
How the sky was painted pink and purple
How the wind danced through trees
How the world faded from view
Don’t become a writer
Because their memory will live on through words you write
And when they’re gone
They’re still telling you how to write
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