A/N: They keep getting shorter… I'm trying, I am…
The more I think about it,
the harder it is to be near you.
It's true, that we'll never get together,
but you're being here doesn't help. At all.
Because I'm immortal,
and I'll outlive you.
I can't color perfectly black,
more like a gray.
Like I've run out of ink.
So I can't make an impression on this paper we call the world.
But you can, and that's what makes it so hard.
By the way, I think it's so ironic that you want to be a famous writer.
You want to shape the world with just your words,
and you're so damn honest about it.
But actions will always speak louder than words,
and paper is always so much more than ink.
From Loke,
To Lucy