We see a mature woman, AMELIA , sitting at a coffee shop with a notebook and pen. She's scribbling furiously, lost in thought. A young man, JASON , enters the shop and takes a seat across from her. He's also writing in a notebook.
AMELIA (whispering to herself): "Words are my only escape."
JASON: (smiling) "I know the feeling."
AMELIA looks up, surprised to see someone else writing. They exchange shy smiles.
My poetry, Your Temple Listen, oh lady,do you see this writing of ink, Finely chiseled and moulded By the Supreme Sculptor, To become this exquisite piece of poetry You see before you, Every line, every verse in perfect harmony?
This poetry is a Temple, Not yours to enter, Not yours to trample on and abuse, But to Understand what it means From afar!
But if there is anyone among you, That Special Someone, Who would caress the folds of my ink With tenderness, with insurmountable love, Who would make me...