When being asked who are my muses, I have to say ..all of you.
These hands just couldn't stop writing when you came to me with an inspiring tale.
Muses? I have a lot of them and I'm not ashamed of it. I can't tell you their names but I can tell you this --he'll be the one who I used to love, the one I left for another, the one I cheated on, the one I secretly in love with but can't call my own, the one who fill in my loneliness at night, the one who I think is a nuisance of wanting my attention, the one who I smiled at when we cross path, the one who I laid eyes on while sipping my favourite frap at Starbucks. Indeed, he can be anyone at all. Anyone that I have encountered at least once or twice or more in my life.
And truthfully, I use them without permission to get inspired. Well, isn't that what a muse's job is? To be the source of inspiration to a starving poet like me who feeds on inspirations and turn living souls into poems? My guess is that they didn't quite mind having themselves turned into an art of poetry or do they?
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