He felt the nib of his ink pen scribbling against the rough smoothness of the paper. It gave him a sense of freedom. He was just another ragged entity inching his way forward into the cruel world with quintessential dreams to aspire and inspire. To the people around, his fate seemed nothing but drowning into the remote depths of the whirlpool of life with no hope of resurfacing. But to his own self; he was an immortal, a creation turning into a creator.
Staring at the starlit sky, running her fingers through the damp earth she marveled at her ability to weave words in to rhymes and odes effortlessly, she was overwhelmed with perfection. The goddess of words, the legacy he had left behind.
The enchanting lore he wrote,
The enigmatic tales he told-
A pity, he remained no more.