The Girl wrote pages, miles long
Full of life and full of love.
The Girl wouldn’t stop,
She wouldn’t or couldn’t?
She wrote on white paper,
With lovely red ink,
Her hand gliding swiftly along the page.
Never did she falter,
Never did she fail,
Never did she lift her hand from the sheet.
She wrote all day,
With sun and moon light as her guide,
The ever-lit lantern in the sky.
Her story, everlasting,
Grew longer with time,
A master piece of words.

A sorrowful story,
Sad to the bone.
True love never lasted,
Wounds cut deeper,
Scars never healed,
A shadowed world it was.
The main character, she was,
Cuz’ this was her life.

A life made out of paper.

She sat there all day,
All night and all year,
Writing on tear stained paper.
This was her life,
For she had no other.

She threw herself in a story.

Life in a story.
That’s all it was,
A made up lie to pass the time.

Never true,
Never real,
The only life to her, the Girl who wrote.