He was a writer
And she was his story
He got the fame
But she had the glory

He wrote the twists
And she made the turns
He burned in flames
But she bore the burns

He wrote their love
And she was his cupid
He made them part
Yet she looked stupid

He wrote the words
And she spread her magic
He wrote their death
Yet, she looked tragic

If he was something
She was the sole reason
But without his presence
Even she didn't have an existence

Coz he was a writer
And she was his story
He may keep the fame
But she always had the glory.

***

For me, it's always the story that occupies some space in my memory card. Except some, I barely remember the authors.

***

Inspired by a tale by Srinidhivinod