Them: You stopped writing?
Her: I hope I did.
Them: What do you mean?
Her: I wish I could stop writing. Stop trying to pen every damn emotion he makes me feel. Going from so in love to so sad to so angry because its him. Always him. Every fucking time, its him.
Them: Write about something else.
Her: Dont you think I tried?
Them: What happened?
Her: It never sounds right. The fake undertones of pieces I write not related to him are souless and lacking and incompetent. How do you expect me to keep writing that kind of abomination?