I've been dreaming of inspiration. Just dreaming. She alludes me. Drifting in and out of my subconscious. Taunting me with her whispers. I reach for her, she pulls away and laughs her sneering, demented laugh. I call out and only hear my own echo.
As I dream, ideas drift in and out. Ghosts haunt my dreams, moaning their epitaphs, hints of a story I should tell. Inspiration still only a mist in the darkness. The fog is dense, yet I trundle through it, searching, culling, yearning for a clear view of an idea. Waiting for the arrival of her highness, to bestow upon me a whim that might cause but just one person a giggle. me, the recipient, anxious for that one guffaw.
Churning over words, prose, phrases, sentences, hoping for the connect, when words collide and make sense...or not. The lady inspiration dances in the distance, floating as if on air, glancing back, summoning me with her stare. I skip after her, stumble, fall, scrape my knee, get up, desperate to reach her....only to miss her by a heartbeat....
Oh, Inspiration, where are you? Why do you allude me? If only I could capture you and bottle you up for the days when I need you.