Small drops of ink fall
Onto a piece of paper
And writes a story,
Of fact and fiction,
Of life;
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
We look before and after,
Into the future and the past,
So that our wounds will not hurt,
For all our ailments to be cured
By self-reverence,
Self-knowledge,
And self-control.
Our sincerest laughter,
The best medicine.
But it�s just a story,
Right?
Just ink on paper?
When does someone�s fiction
Become your reality,
Your life?
