Lost and found

My muse is dead! Was i the one who killed her by letting her slowly fade from my memory, like a shadow fleeing into the darkness of the night or did she commit suicide as she tore my heart from my chest one last time, like a hypnotic hurricane leaving only chaos in its wake? Should i cry? No, it’s pointless! The crying has already been done many times over. I couldn’t see. I was blinded by her tears which filled my eyes. The signs were right there. In front of my eyes. Five centimeters away, crashing down, splattering on my desk into a puddle of liquid love, as i was resting my head on my arm while my mind was on a sad vacation with not even an ounce of care for her. My mind has gone blank from the seemingly infinite cycle of questions: “How?” and “Why?” Do i regret this loss? Should i regret this loss? I can’t feel. Even if the noise in my head is loud enough to keep me awake at night, an underlying silence sleeps within. The joy of life is gone. And fear has taken its place. Or maybe it was always there but not loud enough for me to hear it. I can’t go back and i can’t move forward. Stunned in place by uncertainty. Hopelessly observing how i can’t find the courage to dream. Lost in depth without depth. Without her.

I don’t need pity. To an outside eye this might seem like a struggle of the mentally ill. Mourning over a female without a body, self-pitying to the point of suicide, wordlessly asking for an end to the suffering. But it’s not as serious as it appears. It’s not a lie, but it also isn’t the end of me. As people use to say: “I’m fine.” Pain is part of life, after all and it comes with its own set of lessons and rewards… even if i can’t understand any of those at the moment. I think it would be foolish to act now without burying the dead, or departed. Or maybe, just maybe, muses never really leave us. Maybe we just bury them somewhere deep beneath our skin until we can’t feel them anymore. Hiding them because we have no use for them at the given time. Who can say? I have yet to meet an expert on muses. Most likely there isn’t a single one out there because each of us has their own muse, working in their own special way. Ironically enough, the fact that i’m writing this and enjoying the depth means that my muse is here with me.