The Muse

 My heart sunk as I sighted my deepest of horrors, my eyes bled with pain and the intense coil in my chest could not increase furthermore than this. I was defeated and my existence didn’t seem to make sense anymore. I was shortened with breath, as I saw my muse, my one and only everything no longer exist, he quite did but not way he used to, he existed in a way I couldn’t recognize. He was a changed man, his face was not familiar and his soul-, dark and patched with pleasure. I cried and cried with the immense loss which was incomparable with anything. I could sell my soul to bring him back, I could fly away and never look back, rather seeing him like this, in utter misery. This reminded me of greatest of despair- the story of Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray.

The difference I believe was of the painting and the writing. My muse was poetic, alive, and yellow. I studied few months apart to find him back home in dark. I blame myself and hide my face in sorrow to leave him behind, I know it was all my mistake. I wish I never left I wish I saw him, took care of him just like the most delicate pieces of antique.

Sight of him was eating me alive, I couldn’t stand beauty patched away with sinful mask. I knew I could help him get back himself but- he didn’t want my help; he liked the way he was being. I felt current running up my back as I read those words through his lips, I felt more hurt and despair. I couldn’t help a person who had already lost his sense of being, I was yet again contemplating. I lost my senses and my will to live. Rather than being looking at it every day I would wish to die instead, and that’s exactly what I did. I couldn’t handle the pain and ended it once and for all.

My spirit flew around still, they say I never and will never get the peace because the day I died my muse said to me “Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”