Dear Muse,
Yes, for now you are just my muse. But how I wish it was more, not just mere admiration, but more of an interaction. I don’t want my words to be written just to be pushed to death off a cliff into the deep waters with no hope of return. I want them to be buried within the dark realms of your soul, to soak in your sadness, to root in the vessels of your thoughts and nourish. I want it to bloom into a blossom emanating the aroma of your true self. I want to cherish the fragrance even though I can’t fully understand it. I’m sure I never will.
I just want you to hear me out. It is up to you to decide to let it in. I just hope I have nuanced my words enough to pervade beyond your senses. But blocking me out had caused a back flow that led me into a mire that slowly engulfs my pride of what is left and while my contrition floods me within. But in contrast to dismay that should arise I seem to like the struggle it poses. To swim out of the puddle, while it might seem easy but with the pride drained you feel all too small. To rise is to give up. To give up is to stare into the void, stepping into the darkness as every ray of light drains down. Now I know how you lit up out of nowhere as I look into the darkness. It is the likeness, the synchronicity that put us in a space, in that proximity close enough to create that spark. But I can’t wait forever for that spark to ignite another light, another ray, another day. I’m not giving up. I’m not going to rise out of the puddle. What if I struck out? I’m going to drink it down today and with it my pride that is muddled.
And why you? Well you are resilient, rebellious and thinking about you is rewarding and rejuvenating. And the need for interaction is I’m the most comfortable talking to you. Better than anyone for now. Don’t think I haven’t confirmed. I have let down my guard and spoke to strangers and even when some conversations were good, they never make me as comfortable as a mere thought of you, even the kin. With you being a stranger all the while and yet the feel of comfort is what makes me seek you out. If you are not feeling that comfort yourself then all this devotion, albeit intense, is tenuous. Leaving me unworthy.
But today I take the chance.
And here’s to you, cheers!
Yours truly,
The relentless artist.