“All my unwritten poems, they’re for you.”

“Unwritten? Why not just write it, then, and give it to me?”

“Because I’m not a good poet. But the idea of a poem is good, it’s beautiful. I may not be able to write one, but that’s besides the point. Anything good in this world, even if it doesn’t exist, still somehow does, as an idea, as a notion. So any poem that I’ve not written, any song I’ve not composed, any story I haven’t told, they’re for you. I wish I could write as beautiful as you, though. I’m luckier that way. I don’t have to make do with unwritten poems.”

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