Untitled, because I can't write shit anymore.

Sometimes, I sit down and try to write something good, something heart-wrenching. I think about trying to get my groove back again; to crack my knuckles and type away like it was one or two years ago, when my head was brimming full of ideas for a snippet, or a full-blown story.

But I can't write anything substantial anymore.

I try to imagine monsters, or maybe a little treachery every now and then, or some amount of intrigue. Maybe a little banter between two good friends who think the world of each other, maybe a granter of wishes who yearns to have a wish of his own.

Maybe a little love, perhaps.

But I couldn't think of anything. I couldn't find it in my heart--

Then I look to the person sitting by my left side to ask for his help, but before I call out to him I suddenly realize the reason why.

I remember him saying something like our own inner demons giving us the will, reason, and impetus to write.

I smile, and hold his hand. It makes sense now.

***

So you met a Yoko Ono. You really, truly deserve better.

No Ryan, I'm not talking to you, you R-R-R-RAAAAAAAAAGE-filled bastard. :3