Beauty manifests spontaneously and fluently and not as the result of premeditation and thought in general, so it would seem that the answer to this particular predicament is simply to keep writing, to keep going, and not to worry about whether the creative mana will soon be exhausted or whether that writer's block will come in the way and prevent the writer from moving forward along his or her respective hero's journey through the world of words and the wonderland that is the mind as such, a cave of idea wonders of which all is available for touch and expression.

You are of little monetary value in yourself, but, to me you are the rarest of things; you are the wick on which my flame slowly burns; you are the gentle breath of wind that wakes me each day; you are my nourishment, the drink that sates my thirst and eases my being, you are as you have always been, my sun, my moon and the very earth on which I tread, you are my very purpose, and the reason I was gifted life; without you I am as a grain of sand lost in a desert of wandering footprints.