writer.

eight years turn to eight minutes

supercut of flashbacks with you in it

vivid plays of pictures in slow motion

slipping spellings of her every emotion

pushed the buttons of the timid writer

inkwell for her pen blot on paper

causing spilt ink and wasted feelings

disappointments for her happy ending

when you leave you went to her leaves

safe from all book worms and thieves

parchment of love confessed in space

covered in Kraft addressed to the fireplace

her eyes closed and hit rewind

you’re still together inside her mind

with timestamps to press replay

on the moment when everything was okay

one blink and things went blank

her fears were all she drank

she changed for you the whole time

but you ended up changing your mind

eight minutes turned to eight seconds

you rue the day you held the writer’s hand

you left because she was always right

and took your pride with you in your flight.