To write is to live

 Sipping her coffee
notepad open pen burning through
A line of ink through words
sentences and pages

Coffee stains the edge of the paper
Where the sentence ended
The blotch didn't stop her pen
For the line of ink continued

She said without writing she would not be whole
She said without putting pen to paper there would be death
That life would lack it's meaning
Lack continuity

So the line page and book fills