Non profit left hand

I thought not to write anymore, I realized there was nothing worth. But abandon writing, it is like leaving a piece of my body. Losing an arm, or a leg, the deepest part of my heart. Before you, I think I have never cared. To sell doesn’t make sense: I don’t want money instead of myself. And I have never really used a knife, just a pen. A non profit left hand, it’s all that I have. I need you, pen, to calm the emptiness of existence, because I need a real friend.