A very short story, inspired by a writing prompt. Drawn I was convinced she was the antithesis of my muse. In all my artistic forms. Written or sketched. There I would be, sharp and focused. Creating. Then she would come and undo me. Making me second guess myself. Were we not supposed to be one? Why did she seem to stand against everything I represented? Didn’t she see how hard I worked? How meticulously I made each line; wrote each word? I gave myself to my work. Giving all that I was. Only later did I see how much of herself she gave as well. I wore her down. The harder I pressed on the more she had to absorb. Did I not see how gentle, how softly she came to correct and inspire. So often it seemed we were going in opposite directions. Time carved us down. As all things. The river to canyon. The bone to dust. Then, in an ordinary moment. I paused. Examined. I had been so distracted, caught up in myself, I did not realize how close we had become. It had happen...
Striving to reflect the good, true, and beautiful with the written word.