Inscribed Impressions

With every kiss, they had a spark

She was red when with him.

With every touch, she had an ache

To be held in the dim.


He made her heart race

Brought colour to her cheeks;

She was charmed by his grace

His whispers made her weak.


Clasped in walls of secrecy 

Resided the forlorn love

Unrequited, the heart longed ceaselessly.

A paper, a pen; a woman, her love.


The pen flitted across the paper

In a long uneven line —

The pen knew the touch of the paper

The paper knew too – just too fine.


Amidst a beautiful composition,

The ink grew dark.

Devoid of emotion —

The pen alone left its mark.


The message was clear

Written in blue and black.

Despair seared her,

She could not go back.


“Why, why?” To herself, she cried

A lot of hurt, a little jaded;

Days, weeks, months passed,

She wished for her memory to be slowly faded.


Not a crinkle or crumble 

Or even a blotch that lies,

For everything happened in her heart;

She lived a soulless life.


Like a gust of wind in a cold winter night,

Desiring a period but ending with a comma,

She danced under the spell of moonlight

— A pair of twinkling eyes greeted her with drama.


Deceived by stolen moments, 

Wet by another pen,

The paper was now a book, 

The pages have become golden.


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