I have wanted to write more. . .
I’ve felt it like a heartbeat these past few months. Every time I sit at a computer, the urge to type out a thousand words is a wave so intense I think it is going to wash me away.
And that wave is just one of the thousand in a typhoon.
. . . and yet, the words wouldn’t come.
They are there in my heart, locked up in a cage. The bars are loose enough that I can see them, reach my fingers through the gaps and try to reach them. . . but close enough together that each attempt fails.
And I don’t have the key.
It seems the Muse went on vacation. . . and took the key. (Traitor.)
A vacation I did not authorize. And as of this moment, it is officially over.