merlin0896

And so it is that once again, I sit in front of the cold forboding computer monitor praying to my personal muse to give me some insperation, something to go on, any little bit of talent that she can spare. And so it is that once again, I am spared the need to thank her, her gifts come less and less anymore. I assume that this is due payment for wasting the talent that was given to me early in life on trivial things. It may pehaps be the punishment for not using what other talent was welling inside of me, a times I could feel it growing, ready to burst forth, only to hold it at bay in order to finish some other more mundane task. It is days like these that Iwonder why I was given a taste of the power to hold people's attention for unlimited amounts of time, while keeping them begging for another taste of the dreams I was weaving. Only now, it is gone, slowly swept away by the tides of time and life. I pray only that one day I may be able to regain the power of the storyteller, so that I may be able to give the gift of dreams back to those who have given them to me.