A lot of people seek me when they want to pour out
their dreams,
their sins,
their hopes,
their anxieties,
their ideas,
and their insecurities.
I’ve seen their thoughts.
I am a history writer.
I draw imaginations.
I’m capable of many things.
But what did they do for me in return?
NOTHING!!!
They let me down.
They even throw me away.
They often lose me.
They’ll come back again only when they need something.
They’ll ask the other about me if only they had something to do.
They’ll only hold me when they want something.
Only the lucky one appreciated.
Being a pen is troublesome.
OngoingBoy 