The Muse Came

The muse came yesterday while I could not write. Filling me with the certainty that I would begin writing a lot soon. I wanted to pick up a pen then and there — let the words spill out. But I could not, and the desire was an ache in my bones, a deep rustling in my mind, an itch in my fingers.

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2 Comments

  1. I hate it when that happens. One good reason why I always carry a notebook in my pocket where ever I go.

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