October 9, 2011
I was told to write for you.

You pried at my nimble fingers,

hoping for a words formed into a cliché way of saying how wonderful you are to me.

I sat for hours trying to write something meaningful enough,

but I was stuck, hopelessly waiting for a bubble of emotion to come pouring out of my pen.

Instead, when I put the pen on the soft paper,

nothing but black, shiny ink came out.

No words, no emotions,

just ink.

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