You cannot write when you’re happy 

He was sitting on his chair,

Diligent ; 

I will write a poem for her, he thought. 

He scribbled something on paper but blank. 
What could he write?

Everything he loved was next to him 

On his bed. 

To get a cue, 

He looked at her; 

Drowned in her books,  she was lying on bed. 

He started scribbling again. Nothing. 

He stared at her body. 

Her curves, her hairs, her fingers holding a pen. 

How can she make him write laments and melancholic verses? 

By saying a few words. 

Now she was there : perfect, happy, childish. 

Why wasn’t he able to write anything.? 

She turned, like she knows what he’s struggling through. 

He kept looking into her eyes. 

Asking for a silent muse. 

Smiling back at him, 

She stood up from bed. 

Walked toward his chair and kissed his mouth. 

A long lingering kiss. 

And then giggled. 

oh boy! You cannot write when you’re happy, 

Let me break you..  “

And all of a sudden, he laughed. 

He laughed at the situation. 

Surprisingly, she was true. 

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