In the still of the night, where the shadows dare,
I grip my pen like a sword, and I declare,
“Wake up, ink, from your silent state,
We’ve got words to spill, no room for fate."
This paper’s screaming for a story, for a fight,
I’m dragging the pen from the depths of night.
You and me, pen, we’re gonna set this stage,
Our bond’s not broken; it’s just a new page.
But there’s a twist—my pen’s got a secret, a crush,
On the character that’s born from our writing rush.
It’s tangled up in emotions it can’t quite convey,
A love unreturned, tangled in ink’s gray.
It dreams of the character, a figment so bright,
Yet its affection’s a shadow in the dead of night.
Caught between loyalty and a heart that yearns,
The ink’s conflicted, as the passion burns.
It spills its feelings in lines that twist,
Hoping for a glimpse, a touch, a kiss.
But the character’s a phantom, a fleeting muse,
Leaving the pen with heartache and blues.
Still, we write on, through the highs and the lows,
Turning unrequited love into the words that flow.
Together, we channel this love lost and raw,
Transforming pain into stories that awe.
So here’s to the pen, with its heart in the ink,
Lost in a love it can’t quite sync.
We’ll craft the tale, let the ink speak true,
Turning unreturned affection into something