The Count of Writing Materials Does not Imply you are a Prolific Writer!

Finally, the time has come, I've begun to gaze at you. I've started to find, Minor imperfections in you, But those imperfections, Don't matter; Cus, They're only seen and felt, Only by me, Those imperfections maybe, Perfections for some Now it doesn't matter In a way all are imperfect, That's why we all have, A distinctive character. That's why we all are different. Till now I've found only, Minor imperfections in you. Maybe there are more, Yet to be found out by me. I continue to gaze at you, My eyes are still clinging onto you, Hoping to spot a flaw.

Life was no longer a fun, Life has started to apply many problems. Those problems which seemed, Tough to overcome. Those problems which seemed, Tiring to get rid off. Those problems which, Kept on haunting. Some says life is a teacher. And we are the students. Some says life is a long walk, Filled with many ditches, But for most life was, Filled with lots of joy and ecstacy. For a few life was, Like a clock who is given, The job to keep time. For me life is... Nothing but three dots.