After sitting silently watching the moon cross the sky for hours, she finally turns and absentmindedly shifts her gaze back to the blank computer screen before her. “Where are you? Where have you gone?” She whispers sweetly into the air, sighing a deep wistful sigh full of longing. She turns to look out the window once again.
“You know I’ve not gone far. In fact, I’ve been nearby all along. It’s you who’s been so busy and so preoccupied that you’ve left me out in the cold with no room for me.”
“That’s not true! I sit here every night hoping you’ll visit, waiting for a word from you that will fill my soul, and what do I get? Nothing… silence.” She paused and took a few deep breaths to gather her courage. Courage that would finally let her speak the truth and shatter the fragile icy lies between them, “We’ve become estranged you and I. It used to be that the sound of your whisper at my ear would inspire my soul to write sublime poetry. It used to be, that I would wake up from a deep sleep with a big smile and an impassioned soul that could fill a thousand pages in my diary. And in those moments, I would have complete songs or poems emerge from me, all inspired by my dreams and thoughts of you. But that’s no more... you’ve slowly taken it all away from me with each absence."
“But I’m here now. Doesn’t that count?”
“Yes, you’re here, but you’re not giving me anything I can hold onto or believe in. Yes, you’re here now, but in a sense you’re not, because you keep looking at your watch and fidgeting, hoping this conversation will end soon so you can be gone once again.”
“I never promised you anything… I never said I’d stay. I…”
“I never asked for anything either. It was you who came back into my life, insisting on being a part of it. It was you who sweetly worked your magic into my heart and mind, with your tender "baby's and sweatheart's" sweeping me off my feet and filling my soul with passion for months on end. You were always there, never leaving my side. Now you're almost never there and each time you leave you stay away longer, leaving me empty, barren, a wasteland... leaving me wanting you all the more with each absence. I wish you had never come back!”
“You don’t really mean that… do you?”
“Do you remember your first words to me? [He shrugs his shoulders and drops his head down to stare at the floor.] You quoted William Stafford to me: "I am your own way of looking at things …When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation" and then you took my hand, gazed deeply into my eyes and placed my hand on your heart. You stared intensely for a long time, long enough to possess my heart and fill my soul. Each day with you was a new affirmation of my limitless possibilites. Then one morning, after months of living in such bliss and spiritual union… after there was such a true deep connection between us... a connection where I could sense your thoughts though you were miles away... one morning I woke up to find you gone… without a word, without so much as a goodbye.”
“It seems to me that you want more from me than I’m able to give you. I’m only your muse, and you need to remember that. And you knew all along that I don't live for just one person, I live and eed to be shared amongst many in order to live and thrive. You knew I exist only when I'm back in the world exploring, and you refused to do that. You refused to let me exist outside your small little world. If you want someone to blame, then blame your fears for keeping me hidden, apart and secluded from the world and the people I love. If there’s any blame to go around then you are to blame for fearing those around me, would love me more than you.”
“Bastard! Had I known I was to share you I would have never let you into my life!”
“Well, until you accept that about me, I won’t be able to stay or make you happy. I’m really sorry that it has to be this way, but that’s the way things are with me. It’s not personal, you understand… it’s just the way I came to be."
Angrily grabbing the open notebook on her desk, she proceeds to tear the pages inside. “Know this, you bastard… I... don’t… need… you! I was fine before I met you, and I’ll be fine once again when you’re gone.” Throws the notebook across the room and into the trash bin.
And with that he was gone. She turned to stare out the window once again, trying hard to stifle her sobs, as she realized she will never experience the passion they once shared.
Inspired to write about losing your Muse?! This causes my brain to get the same feeling as when I stare at one of those optical illusions where the picture changes when you tilt your head.
*sits down*
Posted by: zonker at October 18, 2005 11:13 AMMaybe he was pining for the fjords? ;)
Posted by: Ted at October 18, 2005 11:35 AM... From the street below, she heard a clucking sound. She peered out, fearing he would be there - and he was. He was looking up at her, shaking his head. Softly, he said; "But you know I'm not unique. I have .... teammates."
He seemed to struggle for words himself. Inspiration and ideas came so easily when he was just flitting from person to person - dropping in during a quite moment and providing a thought was just 'how it worked' for him. But here, as he stood looking up, he found himself saddened. It seemed the rules were so simple. They were for him. But not for her. And despite all the joy, hope, and love that they had shared, he now saw that he had brought her sadness and sorrow - even regret. It tore him apart inside. He didn't even know that was possible.
All this time, he shared openly. He delighted in delivering the gifts he brought. They were often accepted with such open arms and thankful words. That was how it was supposed to happen. He stood there - dazed and confused. He struggled to find the words to show he wanted to help, but he found himself speechless for quite a while. He listened to the sobs, felt the anger, and shared the frustration. Then he had an inspiration.
"My friends, perhaps they can help you. Perhaps one of them can ... share with you."
"What friends??" She asked softly, choking back the depression. "You've always come alone, you've never mentioned anyone else like you. Besides, knowing what I know now - I'm not sure I want to associate with anyone like you now." She began to feel the anger from lost hope rise within her. "You lift me up just to watch me fall. I don't think I can handle that anymore. It may be fun for you, dropping spirits just to see if they'll sprout wings, but I'm all busted up from the hard landings. These scars don't heal quickly - despite your soothing words and lilting melodies."
"I'm not the girl I used be." She sighed, sadness returning to her voice.
"I know you aren't a girl anymore. Being a woman is different than being a girl. It's better. You have more sources to draw from now than you ever imagined before. But it's important now you understand me here: I don't change. I'm always going to inspire young women to create, flirt, explore, and grow. That's what I do. This pain you feel is partly my fault. I --- I grew too attached to you and stayed too long."
He found himself choking on his own words. His realization was coming out of him faster than he could think about it. He was speaking as if someone were speaking through him. He took a deep breath and let himself continue.
"I've helped many, many people. I've interacted with some special souls. But I never shared like I shared with you. No one has been like you. No one. I did what I wasn't supposed to do. You see, I... I kinda kept you for myself. Others - like me - came and I pushed them away. I wouldn't let them in. I should have. It would have made this difficult time not happen. You would have had - " his voice softened even more " ... a more smooth transition."
In a flash, he realized how selfish he had been, and how much damage he had caused. His shoulders slumped. A came across him. A sadness enveloped him.
"I'm speechless, if you can beleive that."
His future became clear. He broke the rules. And now he wouldn't be sharing with anyone. 'If I had just done it right.' he thought to himself. He gently kicked at the ground. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He sniffled.
He took a deep breath. He could feel her begin to fall asleep. Their time together was at an end.
"Well, My Voice," he wispered " I'll be going now. I have some final words for you though: You will have other muses. You should have had more by now, and it is my fault that you didn't. You will always be special to me. Somenight - long from now - I will return to see what you've created without me. I am interested to see how your voice changes when others have inspired you. I'm sure it will be fantastic."
His voice faltered.
"It just won't be from me."
He sobbed. It shocked him.
He found himself unable to lift his eyes to gaze upon her. He knew she wouldn't be looking down. He also knew he needed to let her go. So he lifted his heavy foot and placed it in front of the other. It landed heavily on the pavement, and his back foot lifted gently behind him. Slowly, he began to trod up the street. Each step hurt. Each crack in the sidewalk threatened to swallow him. He didn't look up. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
She heard his first footstep. Somehow, it cleared her mind. She glanced at the notebook in the trash. "That's done" she thought to herself. From the top drawer, she removed another notebook. Empty. Clean. Fresh. She placed a pen across it and took a long deep breath.
"I'm ready."