You are the perpetual orgasm of my mind. Even romance itself is fickle when placed side by side with you. I think of our many adventures. Ink on paper, letters dancing on many a computer screen, writings on the wall. And after all these years, ever since I started scribbling on an otherwise blank sheet of alabaster, red and blue lined Grade 1 pad paper, we are still together. Thank you for continuing to be with me here and now.
You got me through the best and the hardest.
When I am happy, you are happy with me.
When that all-familiar and hollow ache revisits me on a cold night, you whisper to me oh so lovingly.
You command firmly in a whisper to my soul: CREATE.
And with that one word, a myriad of commands ensue.
Create something out of the nothingness that has become your heart.
Create to your heart’s content until it is filled with so much that you can barely handle, enough to spill over to others.
Create until you realize that it no longer hurts and you no longer pine for the unreasonable and for the unattainable.
Create, as you always have.
I am yours, my writing Muse. As you have taken many others, far superior in capability than I am, I allow you to take me.
I am totally owned, day in and day out. Titles matter little when we are together. Your visits are superior to food, drink and sleep. Money is close to nothing, and the love of the craft is everything.
Your inspirations–the most salient ones–are more demanding than the world’s most nagging wife. I eat, drink, breathe, sleep, urinate and defecate with you. Sometimes you explicitly elude my conscious thoughts, but not for one minute have you left me. There are days you make me struggle to construct a single word. But when you do make your creative self known, life is on paper and I know it.
I am not rich. I am not fashionable. I may not be the human marrying type.
I am weird. I am bashed. I am real.
I may be such a kaleidoscope that’s difficult to have and understand.
People may love me, hate me, love to hate me, hate to love me…
But for as long as I have you, my Muse, my writing voice, I will never feel alone. You are as faithful as my guardian angel. No matter what the medium– charcoal and wall, pen and paper, keyboard and screen– we are together.
You are my one great love. Possibly the only great love I can have in this lifetime. Inanimate, but bigger than myself.
Worth living for, and I dare say, worth dying for.
I shall write until my last breath, my true oxygen.