dear pen,

this will be short. your ink has been stagnant, though i tell myself in lone bereavement, it is running low. in all honestly, i have much to say–rumblings, mumblings, odes, concrete conversation, confessions and the likes.

i have been going through the wilderness of spiderwebs and fogs of existentialism and maybe life. somewhere there, i misplaced even my name, muse. and i know, as you know, pen, to hold you will be to hold me… accountable of my words, my creativity and myself again.

i look forward to it.

 

yours always,

 

muse.

2019