Dear writers (and artists and songwriters and poets, etc),
Tell me,
When the thing that drives your heartbeat no longer belongs to you
What do you do with the things you made?
Because surely, most of your work is based on this particular muse
Because I see things laced with love and adoration
And I wonder
I wonder
When that adoration no longer exists in you
How could you possibly look at the words you wrote with tenderness
Or the masterpiece you painted in their image
Or the song you painstakingly pieced together note by note in honor of the way they kiss goodnight
And not want to destroy it?
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Dear writers (and artists and songwriters and poets, etc),
Tell me,
When the thing that drives your heartbeat no longer belongs to you
What do you do with the things you made?
Because surely, most of your work is based on this particular muse
Because I see things laced with love and adoration
And I wonder
I wonder
When that adoration no longer exists in you
How could you possibly look at the words you wrote with tenderness
Or the masterpiece you painted in their image
Or the song you painstakingly pieced together note by note in honor of the way they kiss goodnight
And not want to destroy it?
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