Muse

I

There was a time and place where I could only imagine the goosebumps rising on her milky pale skin under my touch. Or twirling her thick honey ringlets around my index finger.

It was in the midst of these fantasies that I created some of my best work. Portraits of ballerinas whose long, slender legs twirled across the canvas and whose silky hair ribbons looked almost soft enough to touch.

But it wasn't until that gorgeous spring day that they finally lifted off the page.

Maybe it was the way her shoulder accidentally brushed against mine. Or perhaps it was the quiet apology lingering on her peachy bare lips.

But it was in fact the moment that I realized she was the source of my imagination, my creativity. The light of my life and the fire of my loins. It was then that I found my muse. And by the very definition of the word, she inspired me.