by the line, she watched him
writing. writing and writing
but never finishing
anything.

He wrote three lines to a 5 lines poem
and then, the inspiration was gone.

He wrote three chapters to his best selling novel
before he before being stretched too thin
before he began  realize his idea was terrible,
or a possibly that there were leprechauns waiting beside the door
to come in and steal this monsterpiece when it was finished
or likely, it should be written in ancient latin
but he wasn’t sure about the rules with the whole ‘i’ and ‘j’ thing.

She waits quite a while
but eventually she has to ask

Should you struggle, darling, ,or let it go.

He looks at her for the barest stub of a minute,
sighs, kisses her, and write
most of a sonnet for her.

It has to be enough, he hopes
she nods
it has to be
enough.