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Today I am unable to write that story
I've tried enough today, I let my soul rest for tomorrow.
Everything I do is nothing precious, everything that I write can't be hollow, yet soulless is not the same as beautiful.
Today is the same as yesterday, the spark has left my souring hands.
So I will rest my soul. I will pack the pens away and close the notebooks.
I will let the words pull me back and pray to the goddess that tomorrow I am able to pour again.