How I met my muse virtually
It was February. It was Friday. It was late at night. I had just emptied half-a-bottle of Blue Label. There was a musk-scented candle burning on the side table. Coke Studio music filled the room and my senses with intrigue. I picked up my phone and started scrolling Instagram randomly. The universe conspired to entrap me in the mystical world of unchaste desires. And I stumbled upon your picture.
While my eyes stared at your picture shamelessly, my mind said those words and my body was in a whirlpool of emotions. I've seen men. And I've seen men. You know what I mean. But you - oh man! You were a perfect concoction of handsome features, sublime sensuality and tranquillity dipped in fine scotch. 5 minutes before landing at your picture, I was tipsy. But then I was f*****g drunk on you.
You were the magic poets create in words. You were the visual orgasm painters draw on a canvas. You were that risque undertone musicians try to create in a passionate song. You were what inspires artists to cross the realms of reality and dive cloth-less in search of themselves. You were born to inspire others. And then and there, you became my muse.
I posted a story about you. Shamelessly again. I got 100s of messages in the morning asking about your identity. I sauntered off my affection in a couplet but refused to say your name. I do that often - I scream my affection from the rooftop. But I've refused, lied, deflected when someone has even come to identify you. I keep you safe inside the deep recesses of my heart.
But I think you know you are my muse. You are intelligent enough to figure it out. You are gentleman enough not to say it. You are caring enough not to make me uncomfortable. What a fine human being you are!
My friends ask often - you can't possibly know so much about him to worship him like that. To which I reply - I know enough to make him mine. I know enough to put him on a pedestal where no man can ever reach.
If that's insanity, so be it. You see, sane people seldom make history.