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?

Sure.

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.