Writing

is that fickle bitch

who turns around

and smiles at me.

She ignores me. Then, she gives me her attention.

She tickles me in interesting places.

I call her up

and we talk. It’s a forced conversation

and any magic that I thought was there

is gone,

in a swish of her hair.

Writing

smiles at me,

and then

she says,

“You’re not enough.”

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