she scrolled down the reader,
just today, there were a hundred new posts from the blogs she followed.

people write a lot, she realized.

she laughed,
and wondered when she’d be able to get back to it —
that endless cycle of finding the words,
all while losing yourself recklessly,
and feeling that heavy tug on your gut,
and that sudden soul shiver,
every time you make each line make sense.

classic,
obsessive.

she yearned to write again,
the way she had used to — ardently, longingly, profusely.

the same way they had agreed to write about the future,
would he still have remembered?

she hoped so,
one day.

and she had hoped too,
that he had not forgotten-
-her,
-the future,
-to write,
again.

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