Home,
it kills the writer inside me. He's been dead for a couple of days now and even though his ghost is still working the scene with lots of ideas for things to write about, the writer's soul is trapped inside a cage. I don't know why or what killed the writer but he died quite the sudden death. There haven't been any rumors of a funeral, so I'm fairly sure that the writer will spring back to life when I can sit on my sorry ass in my own apartment and cradle myself in my favorite chair.
Inspiration, motivation, all is lost but not for long.
.we were curled in sleeping torpor.
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