Muse

Dark sky, half moon gleaming above it, guides me home. Steering the bright lanes of the highway, windows down, I think, music turned up to distract me. There was so much to say then, words spilling somewhere, gushing. Somewhere in the translation, the words end, confused and garbled in the night. Here is my basic fear: that I will never be able to form my words into thoughts, to create something tangible and real. But then again, I think that this is the beginning of something different, and entirely new part of this life. I intend to think differently about it, waiting for it to happen and then embracing it. I mean, it might work out. Who knows?

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