Tuesday, June 8, 2010

just let go

my muse is overworked, i think. she's sitting at her desk, classy black glasses with plastic, rectangular rims falling off her nose, as she sweeps her long, black hair off her face into a touseled bun and leans over the paper in front of her, frantically scribbling away. she bites her tongue, furrowing her brow, matching words with feelings and letters with words. a bead of sweat drips off of her nose and onto the paper, but that's ok, because it adds to the ambiance of the thing she is writing. she is breathing hard, breathing heavy, breathing in the things she writes...
and then suddenly, without warning, her face assumes a look of panic, one of pain. the pencil falls from her hand and bounces once on the desk before settling into silence. and my muse begins to cry. her body heaves and shudders with sobs. she has just realized that what she is writing is devastating. the heart she inhabits is breaking, breaking... and she cannot write it down with words.

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