A Tale of Inspiration

The alarm next to my bed shrieked at 5 AM. The wine from last night was still weighing heavily on my head. I sighed and plopped out of the linen. I yawned like a wookie. I tied my hair up in a knot and stuck a hair stick into it, pulled on a shrug, and slipped into my flip flops. I quietly closed the door behind me and took a stroll along the rocky shores of the island where I stayed for a medical research along with my group of girls.

I stood facing the sea and watched the sunlight break into rays of pink, red, and orange, against the deep blue sky. And from under the still waters rose a huge golden yellow ball in all humility. I felt the warmth of the sun touch my skin while the sea-kissed breeze tried to cool it. I thanked my alarm for shrieking me awake from my sleep. I had almost forgotten about the wine-fuddled feeling when among the rocks I found a torn piece of paper. It was soaked in salty waters and the current would turn it into shreds and consume it anytime. So I quickly but carefully saved it from under the rocks and let the morning sun dry it up.

It was a handwritten note that read…

Where do you look, my love? Towards the morning sunshine, the blooming flowers, the ice-capped mountains, the blue skies? Where do you look for your inspiration when the creative side of your brain is parched? Look towards me. I’m here standing stripping my heart naked and in all vulnerability. Just a little tilt of your head and turn it towards your left. There! That’s where I stand unmoving, perhaps like a cold stone. But from afar, that is what you will see – a cold shapeless rock. What is a stone to draw inspiration from? Why won’t you come a little closer and see that perhaps I’m not as cold or a stone?

If I could, I’d let you in and walk you around my mind, take you to the most secret towers where sometimes even sunlight shies away and show you the length and breadth of this space that echoes only one word. You. But that is the limitation of creation. It is only so far I go in using words and emotions to tell you how I feel. But that is not enough. So, I shed my masks and bare my heart to you as I ask myself, why I love you.

I flipped the paper, shook it, held it against the sun, and flipped it again desperately but, that was all there was on it. I didn’t miss him more than I did when I finished reading that note.

I thought to myself, isn’t he my inspiration?


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