Black Coffee

2 months and 2 days...and he still was lost for words...but he did write each night...like a fanatic following his religion...he was pious too..he did write the letter each night and burnt it every morning...he sprinkled the last bit of the ashes in his coffee every single day...it was a peculiar habit...but he was so full of peculiarities now..that his own reflection was a little baffled at his sanity...they din know he did that..if they knew they would chide him on how it could effect his health...but then he already knew how he was...he only din say... Why make it a sad story...every time I write...someday..maybe it will be a little more sweeter and saner than last night..maybe then he would post the letter...but he did not have the address..but then he still din have the final letter ready... Dramatics...never his trait...but he craved for applause...for critique...for honour...would his story make them cry...will those words finally fall into the perfect order o...