Posted in Thoughts

Wasted Imagination

“You’re a great writer. Don’t waste all your imagination on me.”

A few days ago, I watched Stuck In Love based on someone’s recommendation and ended up being haunted by that particular quote. It does resonate with me, as an aspiring writer, who often draw inspiration from my current object of affection.

That current object of affection is just so happened to be you, most of the time, darling. I’ve wrote three letters specifically for you, two poems and a handful of short stories that was inspired by you, along with few other posts that were prompted by my current situation with you. All that in less that one year.

Pretty impressive, I must admit. I haven’t write that much in the past few years and you are the first person after a certain long-lost-almost-lover that moved me enough to write as much. Even my latest crush only got like one protected post that is not even entirely for him. But you? Oh darling you turn my imagination tap on and suddenly I’m bursting with energy to write again. Well yeah, not everything that I posted has been about you. Still you were the driving factor behind my sudden urge to write about almost everything.

The question is, should it stay that way?

Because I’m starting to think that I’ve wasted a little too much imagination on you, darling. And it doesn’t help that you haven’t give me enough incentive to hold on, or even sparks for me to write about.

An unrequited love is admittedly one of the easiest to wax poetry about, and it is basically an endless source for various angsty prompts for short stories. Guess it’s no wonder then that I wrote quite a lot for you, darling.

It’s getting stale, though.

It’s getting boring, me yearning for you and venting out in the from of sad stories or miserable posts. Mopping about no longer give me satisfaction or clarity, and it feels like a rerun of a certain love story that I’ve gone through in my early years of being an adolescent.

Besides, I am not, and never was, your muse. So I guess it’s high time for me to stop with this one sided obsession, because my imagination worth much more than just being wasted on you.


After all, you’re not the only one I am currently attracted to and could draw inspiration upon.




À la mort,

I do need a new muse, though.



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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