No one asks the muse what she remembers. The audience only cares for what she inspired and how the writer speaks of her in italics, in longing, in tribute. But never in truth. Because truth is not indulgent. And with truth, the illusion collapses.
You’ve been out of town working for some days and it’s the last day before you’re finally home. You get a call from your girlfriend before you go to bed at the hotel and they help you relax and cum to their voice.
Some lines I wrote for the bad social media site a while ago, which allowed much longer videos. But I couldn't not post it on bsky! So here's the full audio! Press play on "Brat tamer and brat"