Late Night Confessions of a Typophile

There is this unwavering tightness. 

It sits deep, deep, deep inn the chasm that has unfurled in my chest. Its presence is always known. I don’t care for it and I don’t yearn to admit it. 

Any of it.

I feel most shameful in this confession but…

I hate you.

I hate you dear for the graceful grip of your hands.

I hate you love for the permanent whisper of your quill.

I hate you Akke for you leave this world as you leave those ink stains on my heart. 

I love you Akke…