𝗧he ink now a droplet at the tip of my pen, waiting for me to write again. The first letter built in bold for as written with the droplet's hold. I waited a while, only not sure for whether to write what roams the thought's pile. Seems I'm not as bold as the droplet. Or just confused for if 'tis true what my mind's met. A tragedy I never thought would tide. For if so I did, by it's belief I wouldn't abide. Atleast back then, things appear have turned in the past ten. Minutes changed years and now I'm left torn between my tears.
© OHT