My pencil sits atop my desk inside a little glass jar. It beckons me and calls to be, taken oh so far. It longs to journey up and down, through lines of red and blue. It longs to write of romance, involving me and you. I tell it no, no I can’t; fret not for it’s my fault. I only possess so many words, only what I’ve been taught. The words I have I often fear, are never quite enough. The one I always muse about, well her beauty makes things tough. How do you write about such grace, when words cannot describe? How do you capture the smile on her face, that brings dead days to life? So my pencil continues to sit alone, sharpened, wooden, and all. It sits through the summer; winter, spring, and fall. Although the night has covered the sky, with its dark , soft blanket of stars. I can still see the leaves from inside my room, and I wonder where about you are. I miss you my beautiful dearest, to the point where I can’t breathe. You are the very essence of air, that’s flowing inside of me. You’re the rhythm that causes my heart to go beat, you’re the all of my everything I’ll ever need. If I ever have hurt you, or ever do. Know that I promise, I never mean to. You are so dear to me, I’m here ‘til the end. You are my lover and more so, my best friend. The next time I see you, I’ll prove with my kiss. That when I go away, it is you that I miss. I beg you to keep me, here’s my heart from my chest. Please do not abandon me like my pencil upon my desk.
