when the ink runs dry I literary
Juliana Angela Lopez

Juliana Angela Lopez

Author

Geanne Anciano

Geanne Anciano

Author

When the Ink Runs Dry

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Bestowed upon small fragile hands was a quill filled with vigor. With her youth came her naivety, for she did not fully comprehend what she was given. Questions pooled in her mind as she kept searching for the reasons behind this unexpected item the universe brought to her. Despite her hesitation, she accepted the gift that was placed within her hands.

Little did she know that one fragile object would change her life so drastically.

She began to curve letters as the metal tip interacted with the rough texture of the paper. There were instances that the ink would bleed or fade unexpectedly. Her penmanship at times would be hard to read; occasionally, it would be illegible. Clouded with doubt, the light feather held weight that almost forced her to let go. But she clung unto it despite the inconsistency, believing that there was more she could do, more she could tell.

She wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the letters became words, and those words became stories.

The phrases perfectly intertwined, explaining narratives beyond her own eyes. She did more than just writing. Her quill traced the path for memories to be remembered, accomplishments to be celebrated, opinions to be heard, and the unsaid to be expressed. Written and accounted for, the highlights of life created footprints through these papers. She has done more. She had told more.

Writing had given her power beyond what she could begin to fathom.

But there will always come a time that the ink would run dry.

It is true that nothing stays constant in this lifetime but change. The clock would always restart even if we attempt to slow down the tick of the hours. A tale would always have its end, no matter the length of its chapters nor the number of its words. A story is not told, not unless it has reached its conclusion.

Perhaps it is time that she reaches hers. Though the lines have been filled and read in all its in-betweens, the ink will not fade, but leave its mark on the papers.

It is time for the quill to change the life of another.

My stories have been told, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Now, it’s time to start writing yours.

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When the Ink Runs Dry

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when the ink runs dry I literary

Juliana Angela Lopez

Juliana Angela Lopez

Author

Geanne Anciano

Geanne Anciano

Author

When the Ink Runs Dry



Share on facebook


Facebook



Share on email


Email



Share on print


Print

Bestowed upon small fragile hands was a quill filled with vigor. With her youth came her naivety, for she did not fully comprehend what she was given. Questions pooled in her mind as she kept searching for the reasons behind this unexpected item the universe brought to her. Despite her hesitation, she accepted the gift that was placed within her hands.

Little did she know that one fragile object would change her life so drastically.

She began to curve letters as the metal tip interacted with the rough texture of the paper. There were instances that the ink would bleed or fade unexpectedly. Her penmanship at times would be hard to read; occasionally, it would be illegible. Clouded with doubt, the light feather held weight that almost forced her to let go. But she clung unto it despite the inconsistency, believing that there was more she could do, more she could tell.

She wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the letters became words, and those words became stories.

The phrases perfectly intertwined, explaining narratives beyond her own eyes. She did more than just writing. Her quill traced the path for memories to be remembered, accomplishments to be celebrated, opinions to be heard, and the unsaid to be expressed. Written and accounted for, the highlights of life created footprints through these papers. She has done more. She had told more.

Writing had given her power beyond what she could begin to fathom.

But there will always come a time that the ink would run dry.

It is true that nothing stays constant in this lifetime but change. The clock would always restart even if we attempt to slow down the tick of the hours. A tale would always have its end, no matter the length of its chapters nor the number of its words. A story is not told, not unless it has reached its conclusion.

Perhaps it is time that she reaches hers. Though the lines have been filled and read in all its in-betweens, the ink will not fade, but leave its mark on the papers.

It is time for the quill to change the life of another.

My stories have been told, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Now, it’s time to start writing yours.


More to explorer


The Value Of Insignificance

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print “someday i want to be a superhero, like the ones i see on


DDS o Dilawan?

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print DDS o Dilawan? Karaniwang mababasa o maririnig ang mga salitang ito kapag pulitika

Leave A Comment




When the Ink Runs Dry



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Facebook



Share on google


Google+



Share on twitter


Twitter



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LinkedIn


More to explorer


The Value Of Insignificance

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print “someday i want to be a superhero, like the ones i see on


DDS o Dilawan?

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print DDS o Dilawan? Karaniwang mababasa o maririnig ang mga salitang ito kapag pulitika

Leave A Comment




More to explorer

The Value Of Insignificance

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print “someday i want to be a superhero, like the ones i see on

DDS o Dilawan?

Share on facebook Facebook Share on email Email Share on print Print DDS o Dilawan? Karaniwang mababasa o maririnig ang mga salitang ito kapag pulitika

Leave A Comment