You’re in love with written words but you don’t know the sack that drags these bones.

Even the words coming out of this whiskey smelling mouth, as wise as they might sound, differ from what you dream of.

And you love the “you“ portrayed in every page because it describes a beauty you didn’t know resided in you.

So you might never meet the hand that commands the pen, nor will you contemplate the mind that possesses the hand, but you must embrace the muse that lives within you, for is the muse who inspires the mind.