It’s finally come to a head. My luck has run out, as I always knew that it would.
This year was supposed to be my magnum opus, but I snapped a string while the orchestra was warming up.
I put a rip in the canvas during the imprimatura and soon my paints will dry up and flake.
I am three pages into the first chapter and my pen has stopped writing and the paper has run out and I have a whirlwind of stories and ideas and nothing to make them come to life.
I don’t know if I can bounce back from this one. I don’t think I can make it through.
My city doesn’t tend to sleep for long. I feel fortunate enough to catch it when it is napping. That patch of a few hours are when I usually get to acting like its my old home. The silence isn’t quite the same here. There is always a light hum in the distance. It makes for great…