muse in the ruins

The whole circle goes and comes back to you. It all begins with money, cars, houses and dogs, or let’s say, unfunny and boring life which was planned by your parents. Or at least, the perfect picture that you have always had in your mind. But something is missing. Just what? Maybe old and stolen mattresses on your floor? Or unfinished joints of weed behind your ‘bed’, do you really need those posh dresses for fancy parties and high heels that you are not going to wear anyway? You are the one who has one and a half pound on your credit card and you just don’t really care about it. Because it is how it supposed to be. There is no perfection in this world. It is how trees should be kissed, nights exiled or what your heart should take. Silent is alive, it’s all around you. The word ‘short’ is too deep. And you don’t know where you’re going to. You have your love basically in the hand, just you cannot feel it.

And you still remember those restless nights, when you were fifteen and you were singing on the roof of old ruins that you’re holding your muse in your hands. And after seven years it finally starts to make sense. You just feel your feet in the grass or violins in the air. Feel the music around you. Feel the sentiments of your family that is around you. But before you really needed those things and you couldn’t have them. There were like a thousand of feelings. The ones who got you lost. The ones which got you somewhere you will never forget. At that moment you felt not in your place but now you just feel this is how it supposed to be. And it still brings a smile on your face. But now, only just now you’re not alone and this is a harmony. The blue towels were hanging on radiators, a cheap can of beer was in your hands and the awful smell of socks that haven’t been washed... for years. And it all worked out. The boy, back those days, used to relax in his room with a can of Red Bull in his hands and an ordered slice of pizza; the movie and notebooks that had to be read. Studies have always been in the second place just because he didn’t care about them. Calls in the midnight, ‘Hey man, do you wanna have some beer in the central?’ and the answers ‘Yes’. Back then, it seemed as a perfect life which had no sense and was full of carelessness, one night stands’ girls and friends for only one drink. Everyone around were way too young. And something happened.

You met one person that changed your world.

And, since then, what before seemed in mess found their right place. The things were finally where they were supposed to be. Your muse was in your hands. The sense of humour was in your parents’ home. The first steps as the first laughter, words, happiness, arguments, rebel days or friends. Everything that was first. You kept them in your heart and you will never forget them.

Just close your eyes and feel your hear, feel what night tells you. You cannot talk anymore; the fear is facing you like a dog. In those bloody mornings you can’t feel anything, just stones and air, God and grass, everything that surrounds you. City lights and town’s murmurs in the air was your infinity before.

And here it comes your muse, the words made you sweaty and tipsy. Smile was a touch of the hand.

But plan brings to mysterious ways. Some of us don’t have the muse in their hands; they cannot be kissed under the stars. They don’t look for romance; they just look to be loved by the air, grasshoppers or the pillows. They sleep no more than two hours per day, they don’t have money to buy energisers or even order a pizza. They live under pressure, in the world of fear. They don’t have anything to look something to live for. And they make plans in their heads: how to be far away from where they actually are, how to make the world a better place.

The wisp of hair was on her face. ‘Are you the one who owns my pillows, the one who has the story behind?’, - he asked. Everyone is watching but no one can understand it. She’s the one who is restless, the one who doesn’t talk a lot about herself. She loves to run in bare feet at the seaside, to feel sand on her body and lie naked under the sky of starry night. Above she sees only the cold wind and she smiles at it. She might come to your life and leave the aroma of vanilla and cigarettes in your pocket. The air was happy about it.

 These people do not know what they want and they are pretty happy about. They don’t have the muse in their hands and never searched for it. What they do look for is truly happiness. They don’t have a perfect picture of future in their heads, they are happy about what’s going on right now in this specified moment. They are happy how they throw empty glasses of beer into the crowd or how they are trying to run away from bitches that was spilt by them ten seconds ago. Old ruins will tell stories about them after one hundred years no matter what.

Old ruins will blow up their mattresses they sleep on. They will destroy their lives. But by that time they will be too far to be found.

That’s the world is in your eyes, the one which just became a bit brighter. The strange life which is still looking for an answer, just remember what you felt about seven years ago, when you were drinking cheap beer on the top of the roof.

Back then you still didn’t have the muse.

And right now you find yourself happy, either you have it or not.