The Writer’s Salvation

Affection, was it?

She asked me once how much I had for her.

But I never answered.

For I couldn’t be sure.


And even then,

She’ll stand by.

Though I did nothing,

Though I reply none in kind.


She chose to turn against the world,

Fought against time;

To be with me – a writer unrefined,

When she belongs in light and I, a shadow in grey lines.


A memory, was it?

Only when she was forever lost,

Did realization dawned;

I love her – more than the world could cost.


Our time from memory,

Only in fiction I could admit;

What her existence meant to me –

Salvation, was it.


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