Ink
I touched the paper with caution Not wanting to break the paper The words that I wrote were soft with every letter my heart broke It was something I needed to do But something I didnt know how Letters turned into words And words turned into pages The letter was complete and sent Years down the line I knew it would just sit Sit in her closet or the local dump With time my words would fade The ink would slowly turn to white and all that would be left would be a paper Yet that paper I picked from the pile Made sure it wasn't wrinkled or bent scratched or imperfect. for every page that I write I know it will be the last words I send I fold the letter and place it in a envelope Every letter and every word will fade But the idea behind it will stay etched into the paper as if a memory
