I fell in love with the one who tainted me with an unfulfilled promise. I am a humble piece of papryus, you can call me paper. I can be a sticky note, I can be a collage cut out , I can be a handmade greeting card or a glossy printout. Irrespective of my shape and size, you can hold me between your fingers. But I am not yours. He beat you to it and claimed me as his. He too comes in different forms. He is scraggly, he is suave, he is colorful and he is proud. The first time I seen him, he was pumped with fountain ink and a pen like him was not so hard to miss. I let him engrave his name on my skin, his touch was rough but also a bliss. My friends call him a drifter, a Casanova with style and I know they say the truth but I still want to be with him whenever he is near. He writes to me poems he memorized from other book, says writing is a hard-working job. I let him vent out his frustrations on me, and there are scratches and blotches of rage in each of the page but I know he never meant to hurt. He may tell the most beautiful tales when he dances on different surfaces bit I have all of his secrets safe with me.
We are pen and paper, we are a play of words and actions, we are in love and this is our unusual story.