This Night I sat down to draw again. Nothing came. I really wanted to do the drawing. I wanted to draw a landscape with butterflies. I promised a friend I would do this one for her.
No more ink. This pen, emptied of ink, suddenly reminded me of my desolate heart. I am sitting here in this very dark room. I have music on. I began to fight with my inner-self again. What is happening to my hand? Why can I not draw? I fell asleep. I seemed to have slept for a very long time.
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