
Now, doesn’t change the course of then. Love flowed then, but now the ink bleeds deeply; from heart to pen. Words could never be lost, for when love pricks one’s heart, inked words spill, baring innermost of one’s soul. The pages of one’s life, depth of one’s love, cascade to form textured chapters of a love story. What’s consequential, overwritten by moments inconsequential. Love composed, never embarrassed by what its heart-felt pen composes. By design, the tapestry of one’s heart, instrumental in revealing the imagery of one’s soul, the love mosaically imprinting. Deep love, doesn’t draw meaningless lines, even its most subtle portrayal, an intrinsic silhouette of the heart’s aura. Words penned meaningful, not inkling of a heart typical, exposed through love reciprocal. Consisting, consistent, naturally refined consistency; inking heart and soul. Penning thoughts, journaling one’s lived experience, texturizing the heart’s quintessential hue. Love moves, the soul it proves, but the heart it behoves; seep inked. For now, doesn’t change the course of then. Love flowing even then, now bleeds profusely, from heart to pen!
WCR











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