Inspiration is a funny thing isn’t it?
It’s autonomous and it doesn’t listen to anyone or anything. It gives when it wants to, not when it’s asked for something.
It flows and it dances, along with circumstances. It whispers and it hides. It’s in melodies and signs; it’s in words and images, in pictures and in lines. It comes in with the moonlight, it comes in with the rain. It flows and falls like a feather, it shows and arises with the pain.
It arrives when it’s unexpected, and it leaves without a goodbye. It ignites, then it dies, it lives on and it finds, a new way of expressing, of looking, of seeing. Of being, of dreaming, of remembering, of feeling.
Then you write, or you sing, you draw or you think. It’s in your hands, it’s in your memory, it’s in your veins, it’s how it’s supposed to be. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces all fit into place. It’s something so foreign, something so strange. But it all feels so right, it all feels so familiar. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s my fantasy. It feels like it’s a gift from above, a celestial sign. A scream, or a call, a secret, so divine.
Where are you now? I need you to breathe. Please, pretty please, make your way back to me.
I’m crying, I’m in love, I’m tired, I’ve had enough. Come shelter me, come comfort me, I feel better in your company. Inspire me, inspire me. Take me on your sentimental journey tonight. Stay beside me, please guide me, never leave my side.
I love you, I love you, your sparkles, your glitter, your magic, your touch, your feelings, your love.