Muse

He lost his muse and didn't know how to find her again. He tried looking for her in coffee shops, restaurants, and bars. His writing was blocked because he no longer had anyone to write to. No one who would read what he would write and drop the perfect comment over a shared biscotti. He tried to write anyway, but the words came slow and what came was an unfocused mess.

Where did he lose her exactly? Or was it her that lost him? He often pondered this and wondered if his muse had fired him. After the many years of him telling her his story, over and over and over and over again, perhaps she just got bored. Perhaps she wanted to muse for someone else. Or perhaps she wanted a muse of her very own.

His emails went unanswered. He wrote to her on scraps of paper while standing on the subway. He finally came to the conclusion that the only way to satisfy his need was to find a new muse. But how to find one? Take out an ad in the paper? Muse wanted. Must be a good listener, hot but not too much so, and have the unique ability for me to obsess over your thoughts. Or maybe, simply: Did you cry when watching Antwone Fisher? If so, apply to be my muse!.

Then he wondered what he was offering as part of the deal. Certainly the potential muse would quickly learn there was no artistic upside. Certainly no physical upside. So, then what? Attention. All he could offer was an unhealthy amount of attention.

The task started to seem impossible. He would never meet anyone who would want to be his muse. Just as he was about give up hope he received an email:

Hi Jack, been a while, still writing? ...