I read everything I wrote from the time I was inside your love. I can no longer write that way. I no longer know how. I recognise so little of that self now.
“You are my muse,” I said grandly, grotesquely, theatrically. Stupidly.
You said muses did nothing but stand there.
If that is true, if that is all there is to it, then I am asking you to stand there for me again. Because this is all I know.
Please, be here.
Let me write.
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i can painfully relate to this. We are just not the same, and neither do we write like we used to. I miss that.