What’s your muse?

What’s your muse?

The fresh smell of sand after the first rain, the gentle, peaceful waves that caress your feet, the tiny flicker of the flame on a candle, the warm, soothing breeze in your hair, or every drop of steaming water that runs across your naked body as you shower.

What’s your muse?

The way her eyes fill up with joy when she laughs, the way he ruffles his beard when he’s thinking hard, the tiny little mole on the side of her neck, or the scar on his wrist that he tries hard to hide- Little marks of imperfection on wholly perfect souls- things you wouldn’t notice if they weren’t sought to be hid.

What’s your muse?

Human rights for the ones who’re in the middle of a war, the game of cricket your country just lost, the first look poster of the film of your favourite star, all the little weird things that you want to make fun of.

What’s your muse?

Maybe it’s all of them, maybe it’s none. Maybe it’s all a sham and I just need to pick up my pen. The more I think about it, the more I realise, I am my only muse, and it’s all how I interact with every little event and every little blot- stop looking for a muse and jot down every thought.

What’s your muse?

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