That tortured musician can’t catch a break, can’t find the right lyric, can’t hit a good note. He lies around on a mattress on the floor, half eaten bowl of noodles gone cold. It’s all he’s eaten in three days. Twenty empty packs of smokes decorate the bleak room.
He waits, and yet, nothing comes.
A swift glance out the window and he sees the white dress. It lifts in the breeze, but she doesn’t seem to care that the world will see what’s underneath. She twists her hair in one hand and crosses the road. The cars honk and she gives the finger. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t give a shit.
She stops only long enough to talk to some homeless guy on the corner. Doesn’t give him money, just her time.
She rubs her arm like she has the chills and looks up, straight in the eye, this boy in the window so lost for everything. So down on his luck.
In these moments something warms inside his heart he thought had turned to stone. Something creeps up inside his veins and he feels the blood rush to his head, or is that hunger?
She fades away down the street like a ghost. He wants to but doesn’t chase her. He’s too weak.
He sits back down, lies back on his bed his hands cradling his head.
He doesn’t realise it at first but he is humming a tune. Not one he knows. He sits up and grabs the pen he always has beside him. Starts to write on the white painted wooden floor, all other paper was burnt last night to keep him warm.
Like blood letting he writes from his soul onto the floor, bleeds it out. His first song in 3 months.
All for her.
LOVE
Those first few moments, always so perfect. In memory, in hindsight.
In the beginning it feels so great, the love and the lust of it all. You fall in love with something. Those early rock bands, or that book you can’t put down. An artist that inspires you to pick up pen, or the hand held video camera you’re given as a gift, because you can’t stop talking about those films you love and want to recreate.
You can’t get enough, of that ‘special thing’ you constantly daydream over. It’s like a religion, an obsession, something you can’t let go of.
Those things you love when you are young you see them in her. She changes forms. Such a chameleon.
So you want her to be yours. She’s beautiful after all. You love the idea of wooing her, that elusive one you can never get a hold of.
THE MUSE. YOUR MUSE.
And so you chase her. Like some beautiful high.
She has you wound around her little finger making you promise to give her everything, do anything for her and you mean it, as long as she sticks around, as long as this feeling stays. You promise you will doing whatever it takes. As long as she doesn’t leave your side.
So she gives in. Your initial persistence pays off, and she gives you what you desire. Those ideas and inspirations.
It’s love.
And deep within you believe it will last. It will never go away.
But you stay stuck in this honeymoon phase, It’s so blissful after all. Dreaming of what could be. Squandering the gifts she gives you.
And while you’re immersed in your own mind, in all those things that ‘could be,’ you don’t see her pack her bags and walk out that door.
SHE WALKS OUT
You beg her, plead with her, ask her to stay. But you haven’t done what she wanted you to do, needed you to do.
You fall into the deluded state. Always wanting more. Failing to follow through. Failing to keep those promises. You didn’t do whatever it took to keep her by your side.
And now she is gone when you need her the most and this drives you into madness. Because you chase that feeling like it’s a drug. Always wanting that high.The same one you had when you heard your favourite band for the first time, or read that book that inspired you to write.
So what is left? A broken heart? A mangled soul? Regret, loss, guilt?
A desire to rectify this? Turn back the clock? Can you keep those promises?
Can you show her that you will do the work? Can you prove to her that you’re committed? Can you show her you’re willing to give her what she wants? Do what you need to do?
Can the heart she breaks be your inspiration?
Can the world falling down around you be that ‘something that inspires?’
Whether she is loving you or hating you she can reward you and inspire you.
If you’re willing to work for it.
WORK
It’s true she wants to be loved, and as much as you might want to love her she’s not really the romantic type anyway. She works hard, and she expects, wants, the same from you. Blistered hands and sweaty brows, prove your loyalty, your dedication to her.
For it’s not the dating part that gets you the rewards. It’s taking her to the field, getting her to work beside you. Relentlessly.
She won’t come along and save you, if you’re not willing to save yourself.
She wants to see you use what she gives you. Working on the things you love and want to be. This is not a one sided relationship. This is not a one way street.
You need to be committed. You need to learn about your muse. What makes her tick, what fuels her desire.
There’s a certain connection that needs to be created. A bond.
WHAT IF
What if –
You are your own muse?
What if she is just a reflection of yourself?
What if all those things you love, what drives you, what makes you feel ‘alive,’ feel a burning passion for, something you long to find inside, is you?
What if what you seek outside yourself is really just a mirror of yourself? Something you need to connect with, intimately?
What if she is the archetype of your obsession, brought to you in the form that inspires you the most?
In the end your creation, after all, comes from your projections, your ideas, your stories, memories, what you hold inside.
So what if, what it is you’re waiting for, you already have?