May be another pen

He wants to cry but he can’t. He’s forgotten this art. He wants the warmth of a heart to succumb into. None he finds. He looks for the same in memories. But, none he finds. He’s always been alone, stoic. Even when in love. They loved each other but he always listened. She would provoke him, but his heart would never speak. Since his birth,its been getting heavier. Since her, he’s been writing. his pen has cried his tears, suffered his heavy heart. Every drop of ink on paper is a tear down his heart. His paper wet, pen about to collapse, he looks for a confidant. May be another pen. Will he ever find a human heart. is he afraid or distrusts them all. Its still very heavy, while he’s burying his pen.

Someday, when many pens have cried his heart, when he’s buried them all and when its too heavy to stand by himself. He’ll find a human heart. he’ll succumb to this one. it’ll speak when someone’s listening and may be , it’ll cry. Cry. May be for the last time.