Intense Intervention

"Give me a reason to write a story," I demanded. I had just about had it with the nagging.

 

"Because you are good at it." He smiled and stared rubbing my shoulders as I sat in my desk chair. I stared at the blank space on the lit screen where my words would go. He continued to list reasons.

"Because you've been moping around, upset that your muse has gone. Because you are not happy and I hate it when you are not happy. It hurts me to think of you liek this. This is all I can do."

"Make me write?"

"It's tough love, sweetie. This is your therapy, your intervention. Now get typing!"

"But I don't kn.."

"No BUTS! Just start writing. Write about me. Write about us."

"Okay." I said quietly. I turned to the keyboard. I wrote about us...

 

Two hours later arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind. "How do you feel?"

"Oooh." I groaned. "Do you have to interrupt me now? You're interrupting the flow!"

He chuckled in my ear and nibbled on it. "Come to bed when you're finished. Maybe write a love scene? For me?"

I smiled. Then I wrote.

 

The next morning the sun warmed my face and woke me. I rolled over and found him in bed beside me. "Good morning," he said.

"Yes. It is." I kissed him. I was thanking him for helping me find my bliss.

The End

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