It is, at times like these, when I want
nothing more than to sleep for long
hours, that I find words being to hit
me over the head, demanding my attention.
I ask them, why now? You do not cooperate
when I wish it, so why should I cater
to you? Go find another writer. At least,
this is what I want to say. But I am their
slave. To refuse them, even at such
dark times in the night, might make them abandon
me forever and for good. And this, I know,
would be too much.
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