Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

Maybe I should call in tomorrow, listen to my goofy music and dab with my charcoals.

I need to see how much I miss my muse instead of reading it so often.

She's becoming the better part of me
she's perfect right here and now. And that's kinda safer than talking to her, and molding illusion back into reality.

Can't I just have her like this
a beautiful phantom of poetry and light daydreams?

...

I suppose not.

But she is beautiful here
if not a little trapped.

Like a prisoner looking in on a musicbox.

Perhaps I'm just lonely, but prefer this safe, quiet place.
Where no one rejects me, no one scolds me.
No one tells me to clean my house.

Cold
rainy
beautiful

A lot like this song, a lot like I'm sure she kisses.
Those are the best days.
Sleep in, stare out into the captive silence
down blankets and fragrant tea warming your hands and nose.

She's that safe place at the edge of the bed
where life stories are shared,
sometimes sweat and seed is spilled
sometimes you watch your lover put on her socks and run late the rest of the day.

Sometimes...

Could she stand being this safe every day?

Perhaps I should ask.