When it all runs and it bleeds as though the paper were nothing but a wisp of imagination…
When the author gasps and moans as the stain of what was once his friend now becomes the foe, casting a darkness on all that was good.
When the story ceases to breathe, to find a way to grasp for light to salvage what might’ve become.
There’s nothing left to do but watch it bleed.
The Nashville Wife 