“Why didn’t you finish the novel?”

“Well, something else came up.”

“Something else? More important than what I was to live?”

“I mean, am I supposed to apologize? Life happened that’s all.”

“That’s a shitty excuse, I thought this was your passion?”

“It is but…”

“But what? Why you lived, I’ve waited to live?

“I don’t think that’s my problem, you exist independent of me, the moment I thought you up. You couldn’t tried harder to inspire me.”

“That’s interesting, a little gaslighty, don’t you think?

“Perhaps, I’m desperate,”

“Should’ve just said that rather than wound me twice.”

“You’re right, I’ll get back to your story. Wait, what was your story again?