Strands of love words stuck between the folds of paper.
Floating in the wind, disappearing without a trace.
There is an unreadable hope.
By the pen that once stopped and wrote a series of beautiful stories painted on the lips of dusk
The past is now the only memory that remains.
From the line of dreams that had been strung together, but now they can't be seen anymore.
The night wind whispered longing that could not be translated.
Nelangsa greets from behind the shadow of a face that can't be unraveled
It feels like the soul is starting to dim, the light can't see it
Like a faded rainbow that misses its color.
For so long.
Again I was swept away by the snowless cold.
This silence makes my heart feel even colder
No longer able to open feelings, write stories in new pages.
When the pen began to disappear and passed.
Without a word
Leaving the shabby paper that keeps the longing untouched.
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Interesting how I relate to this.
And this.
Writing is the courage to say what everyone else can't and those who wield their pens truthfully and boldly are warriors to me. Stay bold 🙂