My Strange Muse

It's been a really long time. I hadn't spoken to you in ages and the moment your beautiful face appeared in my mind I felt a familiar void opening up in my chest. Everything I've ever done, everything I've ever created, I've done it out of longing for you, out of a reverence for a creature who only exists when my eyes are closed.

I haven't spoken to you in a long time, nor made any offerings at your altar. You have always been everything I've ever wanted of you, when you've been anything at all. I never see you anymore though. It has always felt as if the older I get, the less present you become, and sometimes I wonder if all you ever were was a fiction. The thought makes me wretch. But every time I grant forgiveness for the unforgivable, and every time I choose pragmatism over ideals, I feel like I'm slipping farther and farther away from you.

But that can't be right. Every single vice and virtue I have ever accumulated I did for you. As an offering. The kind of offering one gives one's deity. A "sacrifice" offered up, not for your consumption but for your appeasement. I want your gifts and your love and your affection and your protection but I know damn well that I will never have that like I had it once and it infuriates me like a child. I want to thrash and scream and destroy, but in the end I am completely helpless, naked and alone in a dangerous world you swore you would always protect me from.

You are no longer a first hand experience for me. I have to close my eyes. To imagine you. To remember you. And every time I get a little high but never like the first. Never like the early days. I can't replicate the absolute and overwhelming ecstasy and joy you made me feel. The intoxicating allure of your reality. When I think of that feeling, it's the only thing that exists in the entire universe and I want to drown in it. I want to flood the entire universe and snuff out life itself with it.

I know you were a crutch. I know that I have all the ability you inspired in me and I can recreate it when called upon to do so. But sometimes I wonder if it's not just the desperation of a junkie that makes me try for it, if all I'm ever inspired to do is just in the futile hope of relighting the essence that I once imagined was you.

But every now and then, in the throes of creation I can feel you inside me and around me. The sensation no longer lingers. It flashes and I close my eyes to savor it but before I can draw another breath it's gone. Just enough to keep me coming back for more. I will always need just a little more.

My addiction; My drug; My goddess; My anima; My strange muse. I will always hold tightly to the idea of you. No matter what else happens, no matter how many promises I break, no matter how many identities I defile, you will always exist in my core in whatever concentration I can maintain and I will never let go of you. This blog is for you.