I must have looked very confused on that school day. I was staring at this blank, white, sheet of paper, waiting for it to speak to me. I was so sure this essay would stay beautifully. . unwritten. The time was ticking away and in this fight I was definitely beaten. Then, you, Teacher, saw me. A mess in disguise. And gave me the greatest advice. “Pretend you’re writing poetry” “Let your thoughts spill on paper.” But, Teacher, what you couldn’t possibly know is I stopped writing a long time ago. No, I’m not out of ink. And I’ve got plenty of paper. Maybe I’ll explain the situation later. Maybe after class! Or maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a month. Maybe when I find the right words to explain this wrong situation. Teacher. . I lost my muse.