.
If you are the one quietly waiting to become the ink at the tip of my pen, how can I ever give my words another face? Every time I sit down to write, somehow, you find your way into my thoughts. I may begin with a simple word, a small feeling, or just a blank page, but somewhere between the first line and the last, it always becomes you.
So, if you ever feel that the words I write are meant only for you, I cannot really correct you. Maybe your heart already knows what my words are trying to say. Maybe every line carries a little piece of what I feel for you, even when I never mention your name.
Because some people don't need to be named in our words. They simply become the reason those words exist. And for me, you will always be the one my words find their way back to.
.
If you are the one quietly waiting to become the ink at the tip of my pen, how can I ever give my words another face? Every time I sit down to write, somehow, you find your way into my thoughts. I may begin with a simple word, a small feeling, or just a blank page, but somewhere between the first line and the last, it always becomes you.
So, if you ever feel that the words I write are meant only for you, I cannot really correct you. Maybe your heart already knows what my words are trying to say. Maybe every line carries a little piece of what I feel for you, even when I never mention your name.
Because some people don't need to be named in our words. They simply become the reason those words exist. And for me, you will always be the one my words find their way back to.
.
