The Muse

The Muse

Every morning, I wake up and sit at my desk that faces a window.
With an unswerving devotion I sit there faithfully in the predawn hours, and though I find it counterintuitive, I work.
I write and I think and I create as I patiently wait for my Muse to dance at my window just one more time.

She is faithful.
She arrives as the sun peeks over the horizon.
She dances and she swings and she sways and she sings.
She leads me to another time, another space, another dimension — an alternate existence.
She inspires me.
She rouses the reluctant artist in my soul.

Actually I was recently informed that my Muse was my neighbour.
She was recently arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct.
I guess that explains why my Muse wore an oversized Tweety Bird shirt and put cigarettes out on my window whilst yelling profanities.
I just thought my Muse was hardcore.
I will miss her, and so will my work in the early morning hours.
I wonder if she has an equally deranged sister?

What inspires you to keep doing what you do?
What keeps you going?
I’ll go first.

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