Burnt

As the wheels churned and the fuel burnt, there was a flutter in my stomach, the feeling of having thousands of butterflies swarming. Words may sound cliched, but the feeling is persistent to be so. I looked around myself, thinking and observing what could be my new muse. How do I overcome my block and become well versed in emotions. How do I increase the tandem of veracity and the candor that others expect.

Our life always becomes bound by haves and have nots, ifs and buts and the continued rock bottom feeling. Hardly do we ever cover the entirety of situations and the people we face. We become shadowed by existing perceptions and forget to explore what lies further.

For a writer, it is easy to explain in words. An artist finds solace in paint and color, or the lack of it. The dancer extricates every emotion in the flow of hands and the rhythmic tapping of feet. Sometimes just the tears in one's eyes are enough to see the whirlwind of emotions and at other instances they hood the trauma.

A muse could be anyone who enchants the eye. The muse has an ability to enthuse you with emotions that you have never felt. The apparent desire to explore a muse is a must. How would you know? Wherever you go, whatever you do, however you are, the slight glimpse of the muse never ceases nor it fades. Instead, your mind becomes actives. It sees things the way it wants and imagines the muse to be right there waiting for you. There is never a chance where you don't imagine the muse to be right in front of you, arms wide open to embrace you and become yours. That is your play on imagination, a beautiful illusion that gives your mind that consonance to hook onto your muse. You don't love you muse, but instead you immerse all your passion and energies to infuse yourself with your muse. You feel that you are your muse, you are one. You get addicted to your muse like narcotics, your heart plunges without your muse.

You defy all odds to become one and to be with your muse. Your words become callous and yawn with emotions.