I stare into the dark ink. Wondering what to write. Should I try a new style or stare at the sun. I came to paint in the cloudless sky. But all I can do is look at you. Sitting six feet feels closer than one. Wind swirls the emotions and ripples ink. How good these days have been. Sitting, talking, writing, enjoying the sun. Like the drying of ink in the ink stone, our day must end. Until the next brush stroke, see you again.
©pancake
P