Sustolle Mentum, Pulchra.

When a writer falls in love with you, you become, her muse.

You will notice the subtle obvious: Her speech. It begins to reflect your own, mirroring your colloquialisms and humor. Your personality and passion. Your volume and tone. Her speech begins to follows yours, tracing the steps of your voice, intertwining with hers. For you are in her mind, in her dreams, but mostly inhabiting her day dreams. As she sits in class fiddling with her utensil, ignoring the lesson all together, or starring out the window as the sky begins to blend, she imagines— no creates a world dictated by your atmosphere, intertwined with her actual memories of you. She replays scenes over and over, forgetting what was real and what sprung from her imagination of the cliche, romantic, bullshit. So to speak. Strolling down a park hand in hand, sharing an ice cream cone. Laying beneath the sheets, toe to toe, nose to nose. She imagines how it feels when your lips meets hers, and without realizing her fingers are pressed to her lips. Dazed. She imagines conversations between you two, often matching your response perfectly. Pondering if you could ever step out of character and say something out of the ordinary. If your dynamic would ever alter or simply remain in the static. If you could speak something jubilant. Something different? Like maybe you would call her something more unique than beautiful, maybe stunning, or gorgeous, or hot? She will see herself through your eyes, attempting to match the characteristics of the perfect girl she believes you like. Subconsciously she keeps a notepad, recalling every compliment you ever spoke, hoping to mimic these shallow role plays everyday to keep your interest. And as as the days turn to weeks, her writing evolves from her normalcy of writing. You will see yourself in her literature. Not clearly, maybe not even enough for you to be sure she’s speaking of you. But she’ll write, about a man who’s skin repelled the scent of sunlight. Who’s hair was thick and would never stay in place. She’ll mention tiny details you would have to think twice about. Like how she notices the the way your smile lifts at the corner when you’re embarrassed. Or how you walk with heavy feet when you feel the weight of the world crashing down on your shoulders.

And in her stories, she relieves you of that burden. She reminds you that you are loved, and special. Through her writing, you live the life she knows you’re meant for. For a writer can see past the naive and oblivious. She see’s past the pessimism and her eyes are opened to the realism as it warps into a story of surrealism… You could be the main character, a minor character, or She may very well write through your eyes. That as you read, your eyes will open at the alternatives you never knew were there.

When a writer falls in love with you, you become her muse. Her inspiration.

Posted on February 23rd at 10:41 PM
Reblogged from: pahhlahcchuuu
Originally posted by: pahhlahcchuuu