His Quill and my Inkwell

Blind eye

I'll stop being pretentious, loathing our friendship. Forcing and convincing myself that you love me is like forcing me to write with my left hand when I was born using my right. You were so afraid of my voice, I decided to be afraid of it too. You taught me a lesson that feelings are reckless. Maybe I'm just a side character of your novel, giving you lessons, filling up the empty corners, continuing the pause. I'll just be a footnote, while you're writing the body every line. I would write to you, but my foot note will do. Your sweet words coating my eye, leading me to the wrong paths. Killing me softly, squelching my eyeballs. We're perfect together, but I'm not meant to be the body of your life.