Partially found in an old notebook in which I wrote in the days leading up to and including May 9th 2015 to May 20th 2015, the dates during which I enjoyed my first ever trip to Paris. Partially written today as inspiration struck, February 7th, 2019.
It’s not ink
When I put a pen to paper and write
It’s blood and sweat
Salt water that escapes out the corners of my eyes
and falls to the page before I can catch it
It’s not ink
that shapes words on paper into worlds
strung together
Adventures in your head, it’s not ink you read
It’s hope and heart and imagination
It’s me.
Wow soo much relatable and touchy
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Thank you!
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