Dear myself,

It is a pretty dull day. Nothing can really excite us right now. Instead of watching television, we could have created some writing, or drawing like we usually had before. But nowadays our muses seem to be vanished somewhere.

Yes, it was that time that we were able to write a forty pages story and we did feel thrilled to continue writing it until we finally could put the word 'end'. That person was our inspiration.

We put our whole heart to produce that story, didn't we? Just for that person to understand what we had felt, towards that only you-know-who. And nothing seemed more important other than that someone.

Ah, inspiration. You do know that it can come from anywhere, anything, and anytime, don't you? It is not that our inspiration rises only from that person, but we just haven't found what we're looking for, just like that U2 song.

Our muses never really vanish. It is just us that become deaf to their songs.

Otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this to you right now, dear me.

This is a slow recovery for our inspiration, but let's keep growing it still even it's so slow.