Inspired Obsession

He sits impatiently at his keyboard, unable to keep still.
The words are ready to leap out of his hands like flames and on to the screen.
But he can’t get his fingers to type in the fierce fashion he is accustomed to.
He glances over at his phone and eagerly waits for it to ring, chime, or beep to alert him to a message, a text, an email, an update, anything.
Anything at all.
He waits for her.
He needs her.
He needs her to inspire him.
He needs to be near her, in her.
Her essence is what flows through him now, and what has infected his work.
Before her, he was more than mediocre. Now his writing has become evolved and ethereal.
His writing has taken on her delicateness and her warm and supple nature.
His writing has transcended his selfish and egomaniacal tirades.
He has found in her what he had lost so long ago in himself.
She was now the fountain from which his inspiration and creativity poured from and he would do all he could to drink from her.
Without her, he would find absent the letters to form the words that would litter the pages.
Without her, he would not find the grace in what this blind world had to offer.
She gave him vision into a world muddied by his pessimism.
She was the reason the word beauty had been created.
Her lips tasted like the ripest of berries and the bitterness of farewells.
Her skin smelled of springs first rain and passion mixed with sweat and lust.
Her hair as soft as silk as he recalled it being wrapped around his hand as he pulled on it from behind.
Every curve on her body had been etched as if it had been carved in marble.
And to be in her was to be in the warm confines of sinful embrace.
Nothing could take his mind off of her and nothing could serve as a substitute to her.
He pours another drink of whiskey and puts his fingers to the keyboard once more.
He beats away at the keys, but the words that are appearing make no sense to him and lack in everything.
He stands up and paces the hardwood floor and throws his hands behind his head.
He sits back down again and pours himself another drink of his former muse.
He becomes enraged and flings the glass across the room and watches it shatter against the brick wall.
He throws his arm across the desk and watches as his keyboard soars through the air before hitting the front door.
He turns towards his phone and picks it up to meet the same fate of the glass and the keyboard.
Shaking with anger and rage, he clutches the phone as if clutching on to the last beats of his heart.
He draws back and aims towards the window when he hears it.
The familiar melody of her tone.
All at once, like the calm within the eye of a storm, he is composed.
He looks down at his phone, brushing tears from cheek, he reads her message.
The corners of his lip raise and a smile accompanies his shallow breathing that turns to light laughter.
He drops to his knees and picks up a shard of the broken glass.
He places the phone next to him and begins to scratch at the floor with the glass.
He writes as a man possessed.
Possessed by passion, by lust, by desire, by anger, by obsession, and by her.
He grips the glass so tightly, it cuts deep into his hand and the blood flows into the floor and mixes with his words.
His blood, his words, her inspiration.
Frantically, he writes more and more and begins to run out of floor to write on.
He closes his eyes and falls to rest next to the words he’s written for her.
He closes his eyes and becomes weak as his life pours out of him and onto the floor.
His greatest work, inspired by her, has taken every inch of space on the hardwood floor, has taken every ounce of his creativity, every piece of his soul, every drop of his blood, and every part of his life.

Captivated

He quietly lies beside her, captivated by her beauty.

Gently he brushes away the hair from across her face.

He traces the lines of her cheek with the back of his hand.

Her skin feels as soft as rose peddles made from silk.

Gazing upon her body he dedicates each curve to memory

Beads of sweat on her skin glimmer under the moonlight.

He wishes to be a dream so he can be inside her as she sleeps.

He feels his pulse quicken as he caresses her forearm.

The grin of a school boy after his first kiss overcomes his face.

He leans in and puts his face in the curve of her neck.

Closing his eyes he inhales her sweet and decadent fragrance.

She smells of rain, Spring, lust, sweat, sweetness and sex.

He places his hand on her face and turns it towards him.

He places his lips close to hers and kisses her gently.

He thinks back to hours ago and the intensity of what occurred.

He had never felt this level of arousal in his life before her.

A constant hunger for her has overcome his every thought.

He lays awaiting the sun so she can awake and be with him.

She would be the only means to manage his insatiable wants.

Captivated by her beauty, he lies quietly beside her.

Knowing that he has never felt this yearning for another,

And at the same time, realizing he doesn’t even know her name.

Memories

He sat amidst a sea of Mac Books, grande nonfat soy lattes, cardigan sweaters, and the whir of milk being steamed. He idled there contemplating, yet never seemingly being able to reach a conclusion to all he pondered. He wasn’t under the delusion of hoping to find the answers to life or the reasons behind the “why’s” that plagued us all. He simply yearned to get back the inspiration that used to be the fire that flowed from his fingertips.

For what seemed to be forever now, he could no longer find what once came so easily to him. It had escaped him just as a lucid dream does when one is awoken from it too quickly. Now that feeling was fleeting from him and it grew as obscure as a faint childhood memory.  Memories that drove the passion that resided in his soul, and memories that stoked his flame.

He sat arching his head back and raising his head, almost as if pleading with the heavens for a cure. As he drew his head down, he saw a vision appear among the paltry line waiting to order. She stood there amid the crowd that seemed too had grown invisible in her presence. He found himself having to be reminded to breathe as he sat there in complete awe of her beauty. The sunlight that entered behind her seemed to envelope her body in a shroud of resplendence. The detail in her statuesque beauty seemed to have been carved by Michael Angelo himself. The strands of hair fell perfectly along the lines of her face and accented every delicate curve. Her form was robust and yet gentle, like a rose that had been forged from marble.  He couldn’t help but be completely drawn to her essence in the most uncontrollable way. His eyes gazed upon her and followed her movement in astonishment and bewilderment.

Where could a creature as alluring as her have come from he wondered and asked himself. His eyes truly had never been laid upon such a Venus and he felt sorrow for that reason. She seemed to glide through the air as she walked up to the counter to place her order. He could see her lips move and he could make a few words out but it seemed unimportant. He was fixated on her voice which to him was what an angel’s voice would surly sound like. He grabbed his cup which was stone cold by now and managed his way to the counter. He asked as politely and as innocently as a timid child for a refill as he stood next to her. She smelled like the air in the moments when an overdue rain began to fall in late summer. She had a sweet aroma of rose petals and lilacs that had filled the air of tiny room. There was also something familiar to her aroma, like the smell of his pillow after a long stent away.

As she picked up her cup, she turned in his direction and smiled innocently at him. He could feel his heartbeat in his palms and the heat of his blood as it flushed his face. It was a sin to the senses to never have been exposed to such a marvel as this. His soul wept inside him for it had now known the true meaning of the creation of beauty. All things wonderful had come into existence to simply attest to her splendor.

He made his way back to his chair slightly uncoordinated almost as being intoxicated by her. He sat back down, never once breaking his sight on her in fear that he would miss something. She turned from him and began to make her way to the door from which she had appeared. He felt the breath leave his body as if the floor had been taken away from beneath his feet. He writhed in agony internally as he sat there wondering what look was set upon her face. His mind flooded with thoughts of whom she was and where she had come from. She reached for the door and as it swung open she turned her head slightly towards his way.

Her eyes caught his and for a brief moment he felt as if they were connected. She smiled once more as she broke away and turned back towards the door. Had he imagined that look or the coy smile on her face or was it as real as what he was feeling. Should he get up and make his way to her and ask a simple question as to her name? Surly someone as lovely as her had someone equally as lovely awaiting her somewhere. Perhaps not, perhaps she hadn’t found her true “the one” and perhaps…

“Perhaps’s” seemed to be filling his mind as seconds ticked on into minutes. Maybe he did this as to know he would not have the chance to catch up to her. He would have no way of knowing more than he already knew of her and what he had experienced. He smiled a coy and innocent smile and he turned back to his laptop. He laid his hands to the keyboard and like a storm in the dry desert he began raining down words. He struck the keys feverishly as if he was frustrated that his hands could move no quicker. He continued on throughout the day only pausing to give his fingers and hands a brief sense of respite.

The day turned into evening and the coffee shop went from bagels to cups of relief from an arduous day. He stared at his screen with a sense of accomplishment and gratification. He went back through all he had written putting in his finishing touches. On the last page he hesitated for a moment trying to find the perfect closing words. He reflected for a short time and finally closed his work with this note…

“To the girl in the coffee shop, thanks for the memories”