This rough draft love
needs some revision.
The author
isn't sure what comes next.
Chapters
often find themselves
in the shredder
called reality.
Crumpled pages
and bleeding ink;
they mark the story
of you and I.
So imperfect,
but still ours.
This autobiographic love
written only
by my hand.
The ink
smudged by my
clumsy touch
and so hard to wash away.
Tragic heroine,
maybe someday
you will find someone who
will write a story with you.
So keep writing,
young author,
for the end is yours to make.
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