I'm trying so hard to find the muse I lost so long ago. I used to think of bits and pieces of things to write about. I'd jot them down and later when I got a bunch of things I'd use them to write a poem.. but now I rarely even think of anything. I did think of this line the other day...
"There are many shades of loneliness"
Then about two weeks later another line appeared...
" Most are colored blue"
So far that's all that has come to me. Will I ever do anything with it? I just don't know. It's doubtful. J
