closeness

why is it that i can never write without a human muse? you are my muse today, as you show off your cooking and try to throw every implement like it's a cocktail shaker. I am completely at ease with you, and that has nothing to do with the alcohol flowing in my blood.

You ask me about my past and i tell you briefly, i don't want to talk to you about when i was broken or for you to know the things that i did. i should have asked about you, and your hurt.

i've never been good at looking people directly in the eye but i do with you, as we sit across the table from one another. we sit and we eat the meal you made me, the silence between us is so intimate.

Reviews

[Isolophobe]

reminds me of someone, and to keep from sulking, i shall refrain a second read for the time being. but this is a rather intimate portrait in itself. it tells as much, I'd imagine, as the muse would want to know.