I️ used to write all the time. Ink would bleed from my pen the way my skin would bleed if only the blood could find a way to escape. The words flowed from my moving hand the way my tears flowed from my face. All driven by a heart beat. Yours. But now you’re gone so the blood no longer pumps through my veins and the tears have long been gone, just like you. Dry and abandoned, I️ am a ghost town waiting for someone new to come along and bring me life. ~me