The Cruelest of Muses

I am staring at a blank page, the words that had so fervently brought themselves to me have now fled, perhaps in sudden fear of being judged, or maybe they just love to torment me. 

As a writer, this is no marvel but rather something that is quite ordinary and expected. I no longer ask why, only that they  visit again, in hopes that I might tame the wild thoughts and phrases that run rampant in my mind. 

It can be a beautiful thing when they choose to stay by my side, hovering over the keyboard or paper, watching as I bring them from myself into a world that others can also experience. And that is all I ask of them. Let me create an experience. It need not be amazing, or joyous, or uplifting, but simply be. 

I want to make a mark of some kind on the heart, mind, or soul of the one who reads my words. But there are many days when I feel that it is too much to hope for, and that these words of mine will simply go in the eyes and leave the mind in the very next breath, to pass into oblivion and be forgot forever.

And maybe that is, and will always be the case, but until it can be proven, I shall continue to write, with the cruelest of muses before me: 

Hope.

Until next time.

Yours ever, 

           Kayla Rose.