Every poet needs a muse.
I have never forgotten.
Have you? Even once?
As I let you slip through the cracks? I wouldn't blame you if you did.
But I know that you haven't.
It's funny. Talking about distance.
because in spite of it all,
nobody has touched me like you.
Do you still feel it sometimes? Do you still feel like visiting me in my dreams? Or when I'm on top of the mountains, sipping in the beauty of the world? The need to inspire? Inspiration itself.
I do. Constantly.
It's everything I've ever wanted. The loveliest thing I've ever known.
The way you manage to make words come alive. Like air. The way you could make them dance into my lungs and rush into my bloodstream
always leaves me craving more. Addicted.
I'm at the mercy of your language.
Your fingers.
Your smile.
Your words are eternal. Taken as scripture. I bow to them every day. Praise them. Share them. Let them complete me. Give me purpose.
Reflected in pale moonlight and written in the stars.
As I look up, into the infinity of darkness,
and see the words you left there,
I am left speechless.
I mean it too. That I fell. Hard. Impossibly.
We ended quickly. Abruptly. A car accident. An exchange of information. Words hurt, but wounds heal.
I know you've continued on. Effortlessly. Gracefully as you do.
But every single night, I still go to bed, with the desire of making love with our words. Tasting your syllables. Drinking them in. I long for a touch I haven't felt since you. In every conceivable way.
I shouldn't have left. I should have begged you to stay. I would have loved a little more time with you.
I'd wait forever for it.
Maybe you shouldn't, but muses don't work that way.
There's nothing more heartbreaking than a poet without a muse.
A sky without stars.
A page without words.
I'm selfish in wanting your presence.
Your poetry.
It's cruel of me to desire something so deeply.
But nothing could be better
than knowing that
there was a little infinity
where I captured your heart
felt your soul
connected with you
and became a muse
myself.
A dream come true.
We could have blossomed into something breathtaking.
Would it be terrible if I said I think of you always?
This is still for you.