Broken when I, paper hold the words of tears.
Paper hold the joy of his Kiss.
It holds my beauty sometimes.
And sometimes my Anger.
I was never a writer, the struggle of my life occupied the paper,
made me wrote more.
Alone was I in the room, white paper and blue-black ink.
A to Z, I remember, connect them to make sense.
On the white are my blue-black words.
It takes me back to the past, takes me to the future I wrote.
In the present moment, I can feel the pleasure of past and excitement of future.
I wrote on this paper with tears and glow in my eyes.
I wrote on this paper with fear and hope in my heart.
No, It's not my Second Boyfriend.
It is my first LOVE.
Story