A Dancing Quill
I am a dancing quill. One that has been plucked away and made to dream the improbable and the impossible. I run dry on the nib often stitching up words that'll barely be seen. I drown myself often in the pool of thoughts. Sometimes I even scream at the excruciating squeaks on rough patches and sheets. Those days I crave for air in my lungs. But then I keep on dreaming, dreaming and again because that is what I am made to. Until I realize they're less possible and absurd. And maybe, just maybe, That is what I am made for: letting everything slip away whilst dreaming. And with all this, I will understand why you would want to stick around anyone but a scruffy feather dreamer. Anyone.