Sometimes she was in ornate patterns,sometimes she had a vintage look which he adored so much.
Another day she would be just plain, plain white.
But nothing seemed to catch his attention.
Though sometimes he did come close very close to her. But just stroked her and went away, disappointed.
And some days, he will come close look at her with lust in his eyes, touch her, caress her and suddenly will get agitated. He tried making love to her, but in vain.
He tried, but could only hurt her. All he was able to do was give her scars.
At last, he would just look at her lying at the corner of the room, life less, misshapen, but he just couldn't help it.
But, today was a different day, he came closer, took her in his arms and gave her all he had. Today she felt complete, their union gave a meaning to her life.
Today, after months of block the writer was able to pen down some words in the diary.
Today, Finally the pen and the diary made love and poetry was born.