He was a wonderful artist, people said. A magician of words. A great story teller. When his pen started to weave magic, no one could remain unaffected. Under his blazing sun, she all but remained over shadowed. She had gentle ways, she did. And she never begrudged him for he was her sun..her knight in shining armor. She was very much content to rest in the welcoming shade of his shadow and protection.
But she was always there for him. To listen, to correct, to advise, to hold his arms, pick up his clothes and plates behind. To make sure he eats, he sleeps... Like a true soul mate.
And he took all of it as his due. She loved him yes... But she wished for once he would notice her, for all that she did.
She kept the fireplace burning, literally and figuratively while he journeyed through the land of fantasies. He talked about emotions, alive and raging, of gentle murmurs and whispers, of sighs and nudges. And yet, or may be because of it, he never understood them in real life.
She wished for once, just once, for him to notice her. Really notice her. Not with those dreamy eyes that she loved so much but in complete awareness. She wished she could be more than an audience to his fantasies..she wanted to be a part of it.
Alas, her wish was never fulfilled while she was alive. There were just too many ideas waiting to be spun into intricate stories.
And then it happened. She died. She was gone forever from his life..unnoticed.
He couldn’t write anymore. For you see, all his stories were for her, of her in many different avatars. When the muse died, the art decided to abandon him to his grief.
If only she knew, it was her, always her, that lived in his fantasy!
