magician, my muse

January 16, 2020

I miss the Magician as my muse, and I miss being his.

I remember sometimes I’d just pace the room philosophizing, and he would sit with his eyes glued to me in amazement. It was a beautiful feeling.

It was also a beautiful feeling to love that hard and to watch him perform the comedy and theatrics of his soul. He was a wonder to watch.

I’ve never been so spiritually and aesthetically flooded, never experienced another human being as art in that way.

I was once an artist dormant, and in his love I was an artist ever-inspired.

My passion was my artistic product, and I’m afraid I’ve peaked.

No being could ever inspire me equally or beyond.

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