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In an effort to write something--especially if one things that inspiration is walking by--one waits patiently--and perhaps whispers "are you here yet?" But at times one just has to write when a deep emptiness is all one has. Perhaps to see letters assembled as words can breed forth a certain love that is not here at the moment. Because, to quote Plato, "Love is a desire for that which one doesn't have." Mysterious reader, I simply paraphrase, so check for yourself if what I write is right.