Words.
Her only treasure, her only escape.
Her best friend.
Her personal chamber of secrets.
Him.
Her only happiness, her only smile.
Her man.
Her personal summary of life.
And tonight when it's all dark around.
The lonely air is all that surrounds.
He's far away in his clouds
And her words won't shout out loud.
Literature gave her a life away from reality.
A life where there was peace in insanity.
Insanity of her words that would make situations with no clarity.
But would still make her heart feel anything but vanity.
She wrote about how he made her smile
Or how beautifully he changed her mind
How his presence was oh so kind
And how happily ever after was all she wanted to find.
While all the other times.
She wrote about
How he got her hurt
How she wished he'd apologise first
How she wished that he would sort out this rust
Rust,acting upon the act of love.
Her writings started with his reference and ended in us.
Including memories and wishes was a must.
Or else she'd feel nothing but lost.
Because he has always been her words
And she, his writer.
He is the life she lives away from reality
And she, is the soul that brings life to his world.
And now, when he's gone.
She feels this urge to write one more song
To give up weakness and become strong
But alas.
She can't.
Because the words were never hers.
Instead, they were a reflection of him
His reality
His presence
His importance.
The words were him
And now that he is far away.
So are they.
