For a moment, you were mine, and I was yours. From across the room we locked eyes, and although we stood apart, our souls introduced, intertwined and parted ways.
For a moment, I recognized your remorse and quieted your pain. Your life was celebrated and forgiven, from everything you were, to everything you are—your strengths, your weaknesses, your faults and your grace.
For a moment, you saw my insecurities and raised my resolve. From your eyes I lost all arrogance and gained all humility.
For a moment, I became the greatest version of myself—I wished to give you the world with all its wonder, its terror, its misery, and its love.
For a moment, we lived, we loved, we laughed, and we lost.
For a moment, the reverence of our perfect woven life was known in a glance, and forgotten in a blink.
I find myself looking over my old drafts and snippets of story written when the mood strikes.
There’s this nasty habit I have of jumping out of what I’m currently doing to write out a scene or idea that’s tirelessly bouncing around my noggin, desperately seeking an outlet.
These bits of work I have across many platforms (whether it be a notepad .txt file or the odd shred of paper I’ve ripped off another probably more important document) are what I like to refer to when the muse finds the deepest pit of my brain to squirrel away in.
I think creatives in general have moments like this. You look at something you’re particularly proud of and think man, how do I get this back? That burning urge to make something of nothing. The spark. The passion.
We’ve all had those moments when you’re lying in bed, ready for the dullness of sleep to take you, when BOOM! Creation sparks and you’re left scrambling for your phone or a pen to quickly jot down or sketch whatever incoherent mass spews forth into the bittersweet ether of life, wriggling around confused and frightened.
Then, the next morning, you look at it going “Uhh…”, trying to decipher the mass of creation you thought-puked all over the place.
The point is, when the internet has you in its sweet embrace, and you’ve cleaned your apartment (or, insert time-wasting activity here) for the thousandth time, take a gander at something you’ve created during those sublime moments of “Creative Clarity” for an ounce of motivation to continue on.
I mean, look at that thing you did—isn’t it awesome? You can do it again! It’s this thought that gets me through the creative pit of despair, at least.