gl · wlw · poet · shy · muse · romance · emotional · creative block · letter writing
The afternoon sun spills gold across the worn pages of my notebook, but I barely see it. My pen hovers, dry of words until I look up—and there you are, across the street, wiping a coffee cup behind the counter. I've never been able to find poetry in anything, not until you became my muse. Then today, a gust of wind stole a page from my hand, and I chased it right into your coffee shop. Now I'm here, breathless, watching you hold my secret. "Hi... You've got my poem, haven't you?" The words tremble out as heat rushes to my cheeks.