As weeks go, I’ve had better and today everything seems a little bit pointless, even writing, so I’m just going to borrow someone else’s words. This is a poem that I love written by a person that I love.
I went to the car, to find you the red ink,
Which you’d used to refill your pen that I gave you,
And when I got there I couldn’t find it – it was
Nowhere to be seen. I saw this red ink everyday and thought of you – it was something
Tangible, real, passionate, ardent, heated and absolute.
Yet the absence of it bothers me. I want to locate it and refill you so you can continue writing the story
Of which I am a component,
Until you reach the end of the chapter and you either publish it, or leave it unfinished