THE INK YOU PLACED IN MY HEART

Writing was never my thing— Words danced around me, never within. Empty pages, silent pens, Thoughts that scattered like leaves in the wind. And then I saw you. Suddenly, the silence cracked, Letters rushed in where meaning once lacked. You weren’t just a muse—you were the storm, The soft, trembling pulse that made poetry form. My fingers found rhythm in the sound of your laugh, Each glance from you, a paragraph. Your name became verses etched in my skin, A story that bloomed where none had been. I never meant to write— But with you, every breath turned to ink. And now the page is my heart, Filled with the way your soul makes me think.