I bet his words are superfluous in descriptions, expressions and recollections than mine. He holds his pen tighter than my hands. His ink flows smoothly against the paper than my tip. His paper kisses the pain more than my journal. His head has brighter affairs with you than my darker substance. His lips are more aggressive than my cold ones.
And all he can do to you is write you while I can bring you the actions of his words.
Yet you still choose to stay with the writer.
Since you love words, I might as well write about this.
WORD COUNT: 100
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.