words.letters. s p a c i n g.
writing used to come easy
when I was with you it was second nature
you were my muse.
my heart.
my soul.
every emotion I could write down in pen and paper
now my writing is bleak and bland
the words don’t fall out of my mouth like the water in the creek we used to play in,
the letters get jumbled in my mind and the only thing that’s left is a blank piece of
paper
staring back at my I can only see my hot tears staining the sheet
the ink in my pen is dry
it feels as if the blood in my veins has dried with it
as if this blank piece of paper I’m now shredding into two
is my heart.
but maybe you were only my muse because I needed those words. I needed this ink. I needed this paper.
Maybe I never needed you at all.