paper: eager to have thoughts, hopes, and dreams written in it's blank, inviting, nothingness.

pen: quivering at the prospect of having such poetic, meaningful words flow from it's tip.

paper and pen: my best friends, my hobby, my joy.

material. lifeless things come alive when i put them to work. suddenly, the paper is filled with the words of my life. shocking words. brutal, honest words. suddenly, the pen is moving faster than the eye can see, trying to keep up with the speed of my thoughts. the pen i hold in my hands can be used as a weapon, to hurt, to damage, to cause pain in the lives of others. yes, my words can be bitter stabs at the heart. the paper i mutilate with my words of torment, i could pass along to someone else and show them pain, too. or, i could keep the thoughts of my soul to myself, continue writing as i do, no one would know my pain. no. these secrets stay between pen, paper, and i.