21 July 2012

I spent years crafting a character, To fit the plot line I wrote, I spent hours on end in paper, Taking every detail to note.

I filled days with character profiles, And months confined to my chair, My story was destined for greatness: I just required my love and care.

And when it was done it was brilliant, But something just wasn't quite right, I searched for you to go boast to, But I found you were gone to the night.

You had left me with novelist wonder, You left me because I was wrong, I was selfish and cared 'bout my story? When it was you I loved all along.

So I took the inscriptions on pages, I threw my life's work on the fire, And when you returned I was waiting, With naught but a flame to admire.

HeatherAnneAuthor's Tale. • Opuss № I