Write Your Dreams....
She said, "Write your dreams."
He looked at his hands and into the past and said, "I'm not sure that my dreams are the kind of things I should write about."
She smiled and said, "The Muse remembers the past, the Muse believed in you."
He looked at the ground and spoke softly, "The past is a strange thing Angel. It can leave tears of joy on your face when you look upon for the first time in years, but those tears can be wiped away with bruises and blackouts. The past is a funny thing. It's always glitter coated and wistful, but the are bad times in there too. The past is rarely selective, unless we wish it to be. But then, it's no longer the past. Just a dream, a memory clouded in forgetfulness and wishes."
She smiled crookedly.
She looked beyond and around the dreamer, seeing everything that was, wouldn't, could and couldn't be. Everywhere but his heart.
She said, "Dreamer, you have a monster within you. A demon. A host of them. We could call them Legion for expediency. She smiled crookedly again.
He looked into her eyes and spoke clearly, "Listen to me Angel. You are no Muse. You know the Monsters in my skin, but you also know the Hero in my heart. Occasionally, even Hero's give in to despair. Even the bravest and Boldest are weak. That's what makes them human. You were never my muse Angel. You were my Salvation. He only looked away for a moment; but she was gone. Vanished into the mists. The Dreamer was alone. The Dreamer Awoke.
