the ink in which i used to write our history.
the ink i swore to never even look at again considering what it was used for
we had no more history, so i had no reason to write.
i just left it there, thinking i would never use it again.
and then just when i was putting my old feelings beside it, it fell over on my carpet of dreams
messing it up. completely
i tried washing it, just made it worse.
i scrubbed, i dabbed, i even threw pure soap on it
still nothing. the stain in there forever
but of all places why would it fall on my dreams?
not like you a stain in my dreams.
either why now if we were ever to have a history, i could never write it.
that was my favorite ink.
you were my favorite history.
i was the only one chasing.