You toss the crumpled piece of paper into a nearby trash bin, which was by now overflowing with the remnants of your attempts at writing this particular chapter. It was practically a waste of paper by now, but you didn't care. As long as Twilight kept popping up in your subconscious as you typed, you would never be able to go a sentence or two without somehow being influenced by your deluded fantasies. Twilight was, by all means, a good friend. Despite all her efforts at getting you to see otherwise, it just simply didn't make sense to you in the slightest.