When the Weather Bleeds

The cold, gray weather bleeds me dry of creativity.

All my writerly parts are all shrivel-y and prune-ish.

The characters in my head don’t come out to play, their stories locked away in wooly-aired meat lockers, their plot twists laying limp upon the concrete floor.

I despise these kinds of days.

They are so lonely and make me feel so foolish.

Until tomorrow…


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