This is personal. I really did fear I'd lost them to TBI, like much else ...
Self-transformation through karma includes a load of drama. I should have bought a larger and deeper diorama. When a crises fully shook me, I feared my ink had dried, forced gone by the new brain managing my mind from inside. To outrun the blues, my muse likely fashioned good-bye shoes. Grieving my muse, I cried recalling decades we'd penned through. I sought their return through all ways I knew stirred their core. I read poems, played songs they loved, walked the ocean shore. Four months passed with no sign from my muse or ink evident. Next, I looked through my family pics and felt some sentiment … So, I stared at pics of Dad and Bro, and well sensed my muse mush. Their deaths years back, made muse wish to compose and ink to flush..
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