They can and wont

I wrote about a thirty lines of a poem. I erased it when I was finished. I have gotten into the habit of that lately. Destroying what I create. I dont like my writing anymore.. I used to like my poems. I knew they werent anything great, but they made me happy.

I will like them again. But right now we are fight.

"You dont do what we used to do anymore. Is it me?"

"Of course not. Its me. I just cant, keep up. I hate disappointing you."

"You never disappoint me. So really, you are just disappointing your self. I feel awful that I bring that out in you."

"Please dont take this on your self. I just.."

"Why not? You do."

"I know. I take it all on, and then we do, what we do. But doesn't that get so tiresome?"

"With out us doing what we do, i dont exist"

"Not true. There is always what we did. And well, this."

"True. But this is usually all alone, up in your world, never to be seen. All day"

"Does it have to be seen for you to be happy?"

"No, but praise sure brings a smile to your face"

"Yeah, but so do your. Writing"