Pen to paper, paper to pen. It was now or never
She had been putting it off for weeks. It had to be done right. Copious amounts of coffee were of essence, and it was meant to be a late, late night. One when the moon shone quietly but oh-so-bright.
Little did she know that tonight was tonight. Pen to paper, paper to pen. It was now or never, and her story to tell. Did she still love him, was it his hands she missed? That feeling of being loved, those lips that did tricks…
She didn’t know now, didn’t then. She thought of them fucking, and kept away her pen.
Deeply fond of black coffee, dawdling at bookstores, and snail mail.