I write for you.

The one who is always on my mind,

The one who always seems so close.


I write for you.

My love, my one, my only,

My life, my drive, my soul.


I write for you.

So close yet so far away,

On my mind but never with your hand in mine.


I write for you.

My muse, my inspiration,

My map, my navigation.


What is writing but life?

Simply unworkable words my mouth could never string together.

What is life but writing?

In the pages of the mind written down by the eyes of the beholder.


Eyes that only see you,

A mind that only needs you.

Pages that need the intricately woven words of your life,

Words that need you to write them.


Do you write for me?

Am I on your mind just as much,

Do I seem close or far away?


Do you write for me?

Am I your love, the one and only,

Your life, what drives your soul?


Do you write for me?

Do I seem far, yet near,

Does your hand yearn to hold mine?


Do you write for me?

Do I inspire your work,

Do I show you the way through times of darkness?


As I search this empty book for you,

Are you writing your lovely story unto me?


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