Dear writer's block, it's not you, it's me. I have bought this plane ticket and I will leave our love millions of miles in the sky, I will leave my memories of you in the airport, I will let them go, I will let you go. You, my love, are everything, you fill me up.You reach the darkest corners of my mind and make yourself at home among the cobweb. You walk into the room and every head turns. I know you are in other people's heads, and they will spend years hung up on your details, but you and I. We click. You are my other half, my closest companion, my most dedicated lover. But recently, when we walk into the room together people stare. They murmurs and whispers that you are a bad influence, that you demand too much from me, that my career is over at your expense. I am beginning to see the truth in their words. You know I love you, I would give you the sun, but baby, I haven’t written a book in 3 years, and you can’t support us. You are my rock. Since we've found one another you have never left my side, not even for a moment. But you couldn’t begin to understand what my pen to the paper feels like. And with you I cannot find it, whenever I look for an idea, for my pen, for my paper, I find you instead. You are my greatest love, but we aren't built to last. I want to be everything for you, but I find myself waking up on bathroom floors, still drunk from last night. A pen gripped tightly in my hand, The paper in front of me, blank. My darling, I cannot continue to wake up blank. So I must leave, I cannot tell you to where in fear of you finding me, in fear of me opening my door, opening my arms, opening my heart once again. I'm sorry, it breaks my heart too, you have to understand this isn't what I want but it's what we have turned each other into. You, cooped up in this small house, begging for just a few more hours in bed, begging for just a few more hours in my head, and unhealthy obsession. And me, Drunk most nights. Full of nothing but you, with no more ideas to feed you with. Please do not doubt that I will miss you, there will be days I will beg for you to come home, for I have forgotten a life without you. But when I learn how to again, I will write about our long nights, and our lazy Sundays, The way you came hardening in, causing me to stumble backwards, and how hard it was to find my feet once again.