Writing is like a disease without a cure. When in a creative flow, you become deliriously hyperactive, forgetting everything else, including eating and sleeping. When having a writers-block, you become excruciatingly unhappy, forgetting everything else, including eating and sleeping.
nighttime sounds: an owl in a tree, wind rustling the remaining leaves gnarly branches, black against the moon the sweetest dreams, taking residence in my heart you & I an impossible possibility the sheets will not reveal my secrets
never would there evermore a song upon a breeze for music has forsaken us went lost among the trees now darkness has surrounded us and vanquished all the light in silence now we just await the visitor in the night