Muse

Mar. 18th, 2008 at 1:37 PM

She is one indefinable muse knocking about my skull all day. The most beloved lines of her writing echo through my days like the skip of a broken record. Does she know she’s given credence to my pen to flow again? I am leaving endless Hansel and Gretel ink trails in the lined sanctuaries of the steno pads I carry with me everywhere I go. She’s turned on all the lights in the attic, illuminating the far corners of my scattered mind. And suddenly there is so much to write about; so much to catalog and dissect with the sharpness of the written word. Osmosis, she wills me to compete, piece for piece, page for page she turns out. But my intention is not to defeat her. For she is no rival, no, she is something far sweeter than that. She is the saccharine sting of the promise of pure potential. And she is well on her way, all things poised for her future IF she continues to write. I don’t intend to groom her, I would never myself lay claim to influence upon such a talented mind, but I do intend to push her. You see its quite selfish of me really, but I had been starving for some excuse to write; to forsake the fears of publishing rejections, the biting tongues of reviews, and above all else the lustful misgivings of my own insecurities as a writer. Then she came like the springtime upon us, unfettering my mind like the wandering clink of wind chimes on the breeze. Now that the stop gap is unbound, I unleash torrents of words on empty pages. I thrill to share them with her, nervous about her receptions. But like the miserable word junkie I am, I keep coming back to scratch the itches on the page. Save serendipity’s sweet ironies for bringing her into my life, she is saving this lost writer’s soul one word at a time. And yet her praise makes me suspicious in kind. What could she possibly want with my mediocre attempts to keep up with her genius? So much of this world is filled with the covetous hunger pains of those less talented, less driven, less practiced. And I am not ashamed to say her prose has made me a happy martyr for all of those sins and more. Sasha, I beg you, never stop your pen. It has been my deepest honor to be graced with your brilliance.