I sit down at the desk across from the window.
I love this library.
Perfect New York skyline view.
A bright purple couch centered to the window.
I'm supposed to be drawing something everyday to prevent art block.
It only makes it worse.
'Draw something all the time so you don't run out of ideas'
How does that make sense?
It doesn't.
Literally at all.
I look around the library hoping to find inspiration.
This library is pretty old. It's amazing.
So much architecture.
Endless colored book spines tightly packed on the wooden shelves.
Completely silent.
It's all an artist could ever wish for.
Until it isn't.
Until every page in the artist's sketchbook is filled with the architecture.
Until page after page is the endless colored book spines tightly packed on the wooden shelves.
Until the silence becomes deafening.
As I desperately search for anything to draw my mind is screaming 'Anything!'
Over and over.
As I'm sitting at this desk, eyes flicking around over and over.
Anything! Anything! Anything!
My hand tracing shapes with my pencil, over and over.
Anything! Anything! Anything!
Then everything stops.
Time stops.
My head stops.
My hand stops.
My eyes stop.
I found my muse.
Perfect New York skyline view.
Bright purple couch.
Beautiful brunette on the bright purple couch.
My eyes travel over her so fluidly, as if they've done it before.
As if they're meant to be there.
Her eyes.
God, I swear I'm drowning in the endless shades of greens.
Greens so dark you could see your reflection,
Yet so bright they swallow you whole before you could.
She can't even be described by anything else than a work of art.
A future one at least.
I open to a new page in my notebook.
She is my inspiration.
I sweep over her once more.
I look into her eyes again, but she's already looking into mine.
She speaks thousands of words.
But she stays silent.
This is a library after all.
She says nothing. Her eyes say it all.
The beautiful brunette doesn't look away when she sees me staring at her.
She only stares back.
I'm looking from my notebook to her repeatedly.
She closes her eyes.
As I look up to her face, tears form in her eyes.
I stop drawing.
She wipes away the tear that falls.
She takes three deep breaths.
I get up to go over to her.
To comfort her.
But her eyes open.
She looks at the now empty desk.
Desperation and hope in her eyes.
She nods her head.
And I swear the room got colder as a chill travels down my spine.
I can see her shoulders sink.
I feel the sob she is holding down.
She wipes away the tears, and she leaves.
Just like that.
What made her leave?
It wasn't me,
Was it?
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AN: Here's the guys POV, how are we feeling?? I hope you're liking this so far!
YOU ARE READING
His Muse
RomanceAs I watch his eyes flicker from me to his page, I wondered why he was here. At that exact desk, In this exact library, In front of me, Was it fate? Did fate lead him to this library, to that desk, right in front of me? Will I find out?
