Ink

There was a deep chill in her bones as she held the pen in her hands. Words raced through her mind, but the pen hovered over her paper unmoving. The summer carried on like this: devilishly cold and dry pages aching for wet ink. Fall came, gracefully she emerged from her bedroom to take on the world. Out there, she met him, the boy she once knew. She felt the strings attached to her body pulled her in to him without caution.
One the night she dared herself to kiss him and finally did shock-waves rang out from her lips. She brushed her frozen fingertips across his cheeks and suddenly they were warm again. Her mind was freed from the chains as winter rose. With his body next to hers there was no danger of the cold and ink flowed freely.


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