I bought the ink from Japan because the bottle was so beautiful. 

I bought the ink from Japan because of my feelings about ink.

I have many feelings about ink.

I love ink.
I like ink.
I like paper on ink.
Or should I say: ink on paper.
The many colors of ink I love.

But if there were only one color, I would love it.
And I would miss all the others.
But I wouldn’t because how would I know.

Ink is something that can do something but who knows what.
If you draw a person made of ink, they can smear.
But here you have done something.
You have made something out of something that can become something.

Ink must stand for something, but I know not what.
Until that day, I will stand next to a bottle of ink.
I will say: what

Ink: what?
Tell me, 
Tell me.


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