by Kristina Stanfill

Where has my inspiration gone? Has my muse left me longing for a feeling? I never knew that inspiration could be so fleeting. My pen wishes to hear the whispers of my muse and paint them into existence. What happened to that fire that fueled my pen’s desires? Oh how my pen and my muse used to dance and create beauty that only few could admire. Muse, return to me. Inspire me once again. Ignite the spark that set my pen ablaze for it misses dancing with its companion atop a clean white page. 

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