PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The Muse strikes again. He's left his jacket on my couch and is out on the patio with a cigarette. Long conversations are truly our forte, although we are also content to sit in silence. Awkward pauses are never truly awkward with him.

I've had a lot to think about recently. Revelations about relationships are not always easy or pleasant, but so often necessary. It's difficult to take a step back and ask yourself, "Is this really what I want? Will this really make me happy? Am I happy?" 

Difficult, but necessary. 

That's the hardest part, I think. When you reach that point, when you've spent so much time, and energy, and effort to be part of someone's life, it becomes hard and scary to imagine life without them. And its depressing to realize that maybe you didn't know them as well as you thought you did. 

So my Muse has come to visit me, as he always does. It's a relief,  honestly. In spite of the swirling, chaotic, mad pattern of my thoughts, he will always sit at my side and let me ramble on for hours without judging me. I worry that he doesn't realize how much I appreciate and respect him for that. 

Words, words, words. They mean so much and so little. A war can be won with them, and they can be discarded and forgotten. But people are not words, and life is precious, as is love.  

He turns on the balcony, leaning up against it, and smiles at me. With a tilt of his head, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke, he beckons me outside to stand next to him.

And so I shall.