She’s not speaking to me. Why? Is she perturbed with the way I her depict? Frustrated, hating all ideas. She deserves better. I want to imagine some resolve to this session, but can’t envision one. With only a handful of breaths before sleep, I’m near a weep. Defeat. Want to push ‘delete’. Looking through my notes, on her. She deserves better.
She’s the notion I can’t deliver. If I could, I’d be rich. But that’s not what I’m after. Seeking to respect my character, be honorable in her ubiety. She’s my literary deity. Her entries, swirling in my circle. But I can't execute neither written nor verbal.