Poetry · Writing


She writes and writes and writes. I’ve seen her draw a rose once but she prefers to write.

Her days are long with no one to talk to except her journal. People always leave but never her journal.

House to house and family to family she will always have her stories. Wars are raged and planets explode in her stories.

Living on a foreign planet far away from this one. She searches through her writing, through her journal, through her stories to find the one.


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