You keep returning here…

but why?

Why are you here?

And, who sent you?

People have told me that I seem to channel a spiritual source when I write. I would like to believe this is true too, but on days like today I confess (to Spirit and you) that I would rather tell you a secret: I am waiting for someOne to return.

Love or hate, this man already knows who he is, why he is here and who sent for him because it was me. I called him forth, again and again. Thousands of posts, page after page of loving bread crumbs, he was my muse. Was, past tense.

Who is my muse today? There is no one, but this old vision of a man I could love and this idea of the superstar. Simply put, I want to be with someone that I want and I will vision a world where I am worthy of that style of love. His love, present tense.

If these words themselves are magic, then let these ingredients be consumed by my future. Let them trickle deep inside, rushing over the lines to cover every crevice of hate until all that we feel is love. Ours, future tense.

What a mess of a publication, this One. What a mess he made of my life, too. Perfect.





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