Darling you need to eat
But to pick up the fork I would have to put down the pen
And I cannot do that

Darling you must have something to drink
Why? The ink is satisfying enough

Darling please, you must stop and rest
I can rest when I am dead
Until then there is too much to do
Too many things that still must be written about him, for him, because of him

But darling, why is he the reason you will die for writing  
Because he is the reason I live for writing