On writing, we will call this a start

It’s been so long since I set my pen to paper
I can barely smell the vapor,
of the last time my words hit the line.
I stuck them in a corner of my mind.
Till late at night, where they tend to shine.
And now they bind me to the man that taught me to rhyme,
the one I never tried to find.

And if I may digress,
I may confess,
that is one evening I will not forget,
cause I do not regret,
I will admit.

A million lights in front of my eyes,
most of them lies,
holding their own ties,
but not the one in my mind.
The one that I made shine.
I say “It doesn’t have to rhyme? Just come from inside?”.

Make it real.
Make it what you want to feel.
Make time stand still, get that chill.
And you know I will,
cause your reading this still.
I let my heart spill.