I know her names: I’ve have known her since a child, she’s always been there, not far, even if inaccessible.
Imagination, or muse, she’s influential, and, very, very pretty. The more inaccessible the prettier: it is well known…
So, I know, the day she goes, the day she disappears from my life, will be the day I die. She will go and find another host, another malleable soul.
Today I am not ready: I want to live longer, and write, and keep admiring her, the long legs, the heavy breasts, the smile of a young goddess, the lips of Aphrodite…
You will tell me I’m a fool: just write her off in your novel, and you will be free, it is that simple: write and free yourself.
Melissa, Joan, Nina, Elsa: how could I forget you, my heroines, the ones I worship, in the midst of darkness…
When I face my Maker, I will say: I have lived happy, under her gaze, blame me if You wish, she is the one for me.
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Really enjoyed this. Reminded me of Dante’s La Vita Nuova. Well done.
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