#9: blue

"Did you not know? She, who is of the Lilacs, is engaged to be wed to her lover, returned from distant Troy."

"Did you not know? She is an actress, long practiced in her art."

I could only see the flames in her hair, the sharpness of her features, and the alabaster of her skin. I could see the intelligence of her eyes, piercing me like none other before, and I cowered before them, unable to see my reflection in that soft blue.

Oh, Muse. Terrible Muse.

For long nights, I writhed in my bed, seeing visions of a thousand moons, staring as I drowned soundlessly in the sea. Moon and Alabaster thus became synonyms in my mind. I clawed at the tablets, clutching the stylus like a hungry, wounded thing, scratching away in a futile bid to cling to the edge of that widening hole that consumed me, leaving my humors dry.

When next I saw her, I answered her glance with ice, unaffected by those eyes that once drove so deeply within me.

Was it love? Sometimes, I felt myself loving her because of moments like these. Moments where she would answer me with focused eyes, until again, I would blink and slowly sigh.

Without hubris, it is hard to see that Muses choose their men.

—Eurymachus, March 05, 2003