My Pen

I dreamt of it. My sixteen year old self wondered what it Would feel like. A pen and a paper in my hands were like Love at first sight. I neglected this love. I put the pen down for almost a year for a girl that that had suddenly appeared. Lights, cameras action. Was I ready for love? It came shooting at me like daggers on a dart board. I wanted to run but for her I couldnt move. I was stuck by her presence even though the idea of me and her seemed so taboo. She spent me and I spent her. We had our own commerce made up of feelings. We maxed each other out a couple of times. Our bank of love wrote some fraudulent checks that we couldnt cash. I felt at this rate we wouldnt last. I felt at this rate that I could actually be happy in a flash. We have the photographs, the memories, the hashtags. The reminders to everyone else that they couldnt touch what we had. We also had the scars which were depictions of our sometimes foolish decisions. We are not some bubble gum, puppy love, first time job type of love. We have mileage. And even though it hurts sometimes I would never get off this ride no matter how fast its driving. She has her doubts that I love her. I have my doubts that she will stick around and love me. Her being so much younger and me being much more experienced than she. I think about it sometimes; if our love will last. But she warms my soul when its feeling cold so none of the rest really matters. I put the pen down for her. I pick it up now because she has become my pen.