‘You’re the… the writer! Ac-Across the block!’ she stammered shoving off things from a chair and gestured.
‘I’m sorry… um… can you open a window? I need some air’ Raoul spoke indirectly while he took his seat.
The girl in shadows crossed her toes and stood silently before him.
‘I don’t really have a window.’ Then she mumbled ‘Can’t afford a place with it’
As they sat quietly for the power to come back, his apparent muse watched him keenly during his inspection of her house. The rags she wore, the sour bread on the table, nothing was amounting to his vision of her. When the lights finally came back, Raoul was fetching a glass of water and his heart sped. He didn’t want to turn around and see her fully… see that she wasn’t that entire illusion he imagined. There were other unexplained things happening; things he couldn’t comprehend. Eventually, he did have to turn and to his utter disappointment she wasn’t the picture of ease and passion.
The first thing he saw was her. Her hair was burgundy not blond; her lips had weird freckles near them; and she sprinted in overalls. His dream muse shattered.
Oh my god he thought. She quickly fixed her glasses and wiped off paint from her fingers. That’s when he realized he actually said them aloud. A few bright colors caught his attention and he glanced away to a window.
‘I thought you said you didn’t have a window?’ Raoul exclaimed as looked at his own loft out of it.
‘Oh it’s not real!’ the young girl went to the amazingly real looking window and tapped.
‘See? Glass. I painted over it. This is the view that inspires me to work’ she rattled showing murals on her walls and designs on her furniture. But Raoul couldn’t take his eyes off her.
‘This, inspires you?’ he asked nodding towards the glass painting.
‘Yes, weirdly it does. The architecture of this building, the angels carved into them… everything about it makes me feel like a creator.’ Raoul smiled.
‘It looks very real to me’
A few months later, he gets her a window out of which she sees exactly what she had imagined and for him? Well… he realized that after seeing her, the muse was too perfect to bring any reality in his writing. He gave it up to see Heather in all her imperfection doing what she loved.
Raoul looks out the window to see his actual muse. Overalls weren’t the only kind of clothes she possesses he realizes. And her freckles were washable paint after all. They sometimes meet for a weekend dinner at the café round the corner. And while they eat, she pushes back a strand of her hair awkwardly. They laugh over wine, and debate about artists. Life goes back to cliché and everyday Raoul dines in heaven thinking of her. But if it weren’t for that writer’s block, he never could’ve done justice to his own writing…or to his heart. The past was something he couldn't comprehend, but like many other things in life, he didn't need to for if its meant to be it happens. Even if its in the most delusional way!
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