Muse 1.0 ------------------ How can I ever run out of words when words themselves are my muse?
To You, From Me:
When I don’t know what to write, I think of you and begin to type. There’s no such thing as writer’s block if you take ‘em all and build a tower to live in like a child with legos and an endless imagination.
“What to write? What to write?” people ask.
My advice will always be you. “Write about writing and you’ll never be lost, for it’ll always be everyone’s default muse.”
One may have customized every topic they’ve chosen for aesthetics, to express emotions, or just to empty one’s mind, but when all else fails and one feels as if they can’t pen a single thing, you’re forever there to assist- offer a metaphorical shoulder as a lift (not a pillow to cry on). You’re there to remind them where everything started before everyone kept pressing the update button.
And me? I’m someone who never dares to press update. I stay where I know I’m comfortable, where everything is just right- not too this and not too that (call me Goldilocks for all I care). To me, you’re no longer just a default. You’re what I chose myself- not what I was forced to comply with. You’re a solid foundation that supports even a tumbling tower of building blocks like myself (lol apparently we’re both good at playing Jenga). Above all, you’re my muse. All I ever want to write about is you and until I was challenged to write this letter, I never knew. Sorry for realizing so late but aren’t infatuated people usually the last ones to recognize what they’re feeling? I think that fact says it all.
For when you yourself are my muse, how can the page ever remain blank? How could the tower ever truly stop climbing? How could the sky ever end?