How far should I travel, to find you, my source of inspiration? How much longer should I wait, until I see your face again from another dimension? Until I converse about life and all things that I’m battling with, and for you to give me some tips on living? How long can I sustain the flickering images of you in my forgetful memory and the soft wisps of inspiration, like shots of alcohol that drain through my system and are forever gone. Can you help me enjoy this falling sunset over the hills through the cracked window of the prison cell? Will you be there for me at times when I’m too afraid to speak to anyone? Will you hold my trembling hand and lead me up to face it all; under the bright lights that reveal my naked soul and my vulnerability exposed to the whole wide world? Will you help me learn how to shield myself from sharp arrows shooting at my frightened heart from all directions? And will I ever, eventually, be able to stand tall and welcome these arrows by myself?