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.