I might not have it all, and what I’ve got may not last for all the days of my life.
But I have it right now.
I have the words.
So, I’m lonely (a circumstantial and temporary loneliness), and I can feel Time sanding me down and sucking me dry.
But I’m not alone: I haven’t lost my voice.
Even if, like Savannah Wingo in the Prince of Tides, I have to write my lines in wet sand, I am writing them down.
Try and breach my heart for your own ends – will it spark a slow burn that only lights up how alone I am?
But you have not seen alchemy like this before: where I spin diamond-threads out of pain, never mind gold out of straw.
You get 5 minutes of greedy pleasure, but I am getting me a muse.
And any emotion will do.