Monday, June 07, 2004
I am empty. Bottomless. Drained. Nothing. When the last ounce of creativity has been usurped from your veins and your blood is left to run cold and dry, you become strangely aware of a sense of peace, one that is the result of all expectations being withered and from the knowledge that there is nothing left to do but wait.
And so do I wait for the miracle to come.
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