The Writer’s Sorrow
They whispered,
_
If a writer falls in love with you
you will never truly depart
you will linger on between the lines
in the pause before the full stop arrives
in the essence of ‘forever’ and ‘us’ that fills each page
but for me, it’s different
because when you go
my pen too comes to a halt.
Each stroke of the pen is a brushstroke on the canvas of your heart
and every word is a hue in the masterpiece that is our love
but when you leave me, my dearest muse
my pen too falls silent
the pages remain blank
how can I write of love when you are gone?
how can I paint your portrait when you are but a memory?
how can I sing a love song when estrangement fills my mind?
In your absence, I am but a shell of myself
a hollow vessel devoid of purpose and meaning
but I know that you will always linger between the lines
so I wait for your return
my dearest muse, for until then
my pen too remains still.
