writing is an elusive friend. sometimes he comes sometimes he goes. sometimes he is my closest companion, the only one who seems to be there, to listen, to share wisdom and advice, and to tell me things that I knew all along. And other times... he leaves me all alone. I sit down, attempting to call my muse as I desperately try to find the words to express how feel and he runs, never to look back at my perplexed and frustrated expression.

lately he's been unavailable, busy, fickle, mean, vindictive...
just gone.

trying coax my muse back so I can say what I mean to say,
M