The blinking of the small line on the document,
the document that should really be called the never ending page.
Because you could write a story of a billion pages and never run out.
The emptiness of the paper,
the paper that has a limit of pages.
Because nobody can hear the whole story without having enough years in life.
The shortage of ink in a pen,
the pen that lasts only for a while and then doesn’t work anymore.
Because after taking medicine we heal and then we don’t need it.
The limit to life,
the life that we live and then don’t.
Because we are so fragile and then in the end we break.
