When the muse speaks - you write. Why did the muse speak now? Many times it isn't easy to point to specific things - to say "this and that woke it up." However, for once it is fairly easy to do so. From being asked to photograph at a friend's wedding, to finally building up the nerve to call an old friend and find out that she now has a boyfriend. Another person is looking for love elsewhere, while the last time I tried, my calls weren't returned. Lastly, later this week I turn 29. This muse's waking is easy to identify.
I am sitting here wondering "when did it all pass me by?" I am happy for all those people that helped wake the muse - I want to be happy for them... but I want to be happy for me too - for us. I just don't know who that other person is. Going about life and grasping at straws - it is frustrating and depressing at times.
When did I take the wrong path? Or what opportunity did I miss? Was it some principle that I refused to compromise that blinded me? Or did I just not realize an opportunity because I was too afraid to see beyond the possibility of pain.
"You are a great guy - you would make a wonderful father." I've heard it more than once. The difficulty is I don't know who would be a wonderful mother to share that dream with. I know it is meant as a compliment, but every time it is another small stab in my heart reminding me that I'm alone in life.
It is something I try to forget most of the time - work and hobbies, going places and doing things. Constantly moving to avoid those feelings of loss from catching up - that each time I sit in the car to go some place, the seat next to me is empty, and each seat next to me on the plane is a stranger. These are facts that I know too well, and I don't need any more reminders of.
There are times I slow down, be it from being broadsided by an event that reminds me that I'm alone, or meeting someone with whom I could far too easily fall in love with, or just because I am tired of running for a bit. It is in times like these that the waves of emotion come crashing down. It is in the gut like a punch - the one that makes you wish you could double up and cry. The sea of emotion surges, threatening to spill forth from behind the eyes, one drop at a time.
Looking up at the sky, tablet of paper in hand, the muse is satisfied for some time at least - but still there reminding me of what isn't. Up above, a star streaks across the sky - I murmur to myself "I wish..."
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