It was as if all of the happiness all of the magic of this blissful hour had flowed together into these stirring bittersweet tones and flowed away becoming temporal and transitory once more.
When I hit a block regardless of what I am writing what the subject matter is or what's going on in the plot I go back and I read Pablo Neruda's poetry. I don't actually speak Spanish so I read it translation. But I always go back to Neruda. I don't know why but it calms me calms my brain.