My muse will occasionally desert me. Like I’m stuck living my life, and my muse is off whoring it up on the west coast, or skiing the Swiss Alps. But she always comes back to me; the little bitch can’t stay away for too long. Back to inspire me to be greater, more beautiful than ever before. We love each other but don’t stand too close, always retain a sense of mystery, intrigue. Well, it’s good to see you again, my old friend. And is it just me, or do you truly become more breath taking each time you return to my arms, blushing with the night?
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