A Writer's Confession

210 3 0

by springdaywriter

by springdaywriter

A WRITER'S CONFESSION

You are the smudge in my fingers, the ink that I can't ever wash off.
You are my misunderstood words.
You are the pages of the book that I spend days to learn how to love them.
You are the first thing that I think about in Monday morning, lighting my instincts on fire and my heart on a race, one that I end up hating on Sunday night.
You are the words stuck beneath my throat, the fear that wraps me when I'm about to lose someone over a stupid argument.
You are my lonely days and nights wasted away on a bottle of pills and alcohol.

But you are also the smell of coffee on a Saturday morning.
You are my blanket on a cold night.
You are the days marked on my calendar while I wait for something big to happen.
You are the sweet scent of candles.
You are the movie I will never get tired of watching.
You are the night sky when all the day ever gave me were moments I resented.

You are all of this, and you still wonder why I love you that much.