The girl asked him to write her a poem. “What kind of poem?” He looked confused. “You’re a writer. You certainly know how to write a poem,” she replied with irritation. He agreed with her but had a valid excuse this time. “But one needs to feel something in order to write,” he muttered. The girl tossed back her hair and gave him angry eyes. She wondered how he dared to call himself a writer.
Poem Impossible
