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Description

In the light of a full moon, a man walks barefoot on a beach with shoes in his right hand. Below, the water of an endless sea teases his toes with a touch of the cold night, constantly pushing and pulling. Offshore, gargantuan waves break and white foam devours the watery surface – a menace that the man cannot see but one that he can hear roar with a spit of salt spray that stings his face. Once, a woman had held his left hand and walked alongside the man, and together they would leave a trail of two sets of footprints, but now he is all alone. She was his muse, a constant flame that ignited creative passion with every touch, and for an artist, he needed every candle of his imagination to be lit daily; he needed her more than he needed air.

Ankles vanish into the black water that churns with a slight current. The man, this troubled artist, can feel the sea beyond tug at his skin, imploring him to swim forever in its infinite waters. Limitless is the power of the mind and the possibilities of its creations but limited is the body in enduring such potential. Ideas and dreams abound, his mind was a treasure trove that drew up works of art and wove tales of adventures that found their places in people's hearts, but then it all faded into oblivion when the last words of 'goodbye' reached his ears. Sand molds around the feet of the artist and their millions of grains feel like the thousands of ideas that rotted away when his hands could not create that which his mind told him to. Blank canvases and plain pieces of white paper were all that filled his vision; death.

Half-buried in the water, the man can feel the waves caress his waist with a tender softness that reminds him of the touch of his muse, now so very far away. By plane, she had flown to shores across the sea, to places where he could not go, to places where his life path would not tread. Her parting was an execution that he thought he was ready for but when the knife of life came to sever their interlocked hands, he realized just how much she meant to him. He realized that every story was an adventure he wanted to share with her and every art piece, a vision of their future together. If only he could make such dreams come true.

A muse is an inspiration, perhaps for a lifetime or for a moment, they are not to kept forever. He wished that she would be his till he passed into void, he did not realize how selfish he had become, how devoted he had become to relying on something else other than himself. She became his world and in return, he had forgotten his own. Leviathan waves threaten to swallow that which walks too far into darkness of the water and their waves break against his shoulders. Shoes float on the surface, lost from the hands that once held them, back towards the safety of the shore. The eyes of the artist shine no more and all that's left is a grey husk of self-defeat and lament at how fast his muse had moved on from him. He couldn't move on, he couldn't make the next step without her and news of her inspiring another, that was a noose.

Cold water, unbreathable, chilled to the bone, sinking deeper, the artist falters below the waves that have consumed his being. Beneath the wake above, air escapes from his mouth in bubbles that float towards the surface. Seawater threatens to fill the cavity left behind by the air and the artist knows that he will choke soon, it reminds him of his life before the muse - a life where tragedy accompanied fortunate memories. A happiness contrasted the depression of human mortality, that not every idea can survive the hundreds or less that man has. The artist knew that he couldn't possibly have eternity and limitless strength to breath life into all of his ideas, till he met his muse. She was a woman that had within her, a fire that lent strength and a differing outlook that added perspectives he had thought to think about. He had taken her hand and she had given him boundless hope and energy to finish the works he was destined to produce.

Drugs, pills and powder, women of pleasure, alcohol, some dark, some light, none these vices could accomplish the inspiration that the muse had given him. She had whispered of a date where their tenure together would end but the artist didn't listen - he was too caught up in finally creating that which he had always dreamed about. Eyes relent to the darkness of the murk beneath the waters and the artist falls deeper into the depths of the sea. Life ebbs and he remembers the kiss that sparked his heart and awoke a life within him, a future where his dreams would complete and his ideas, victorious. Laughter, her laughter, and her smiles, they fade from memory as the seawater strangles his lungs. His body convulses, a climax, a re-awakening, he remembers her in his arms, her smell, sweet and fresh, he leans in but she disappears into a mist. Eyes open and the artist gasps for air but there is none below the sea, in this place where his own deluded thoughts of failure had led him to.

The current seizes his failing body and throws it around, like a doll, powerless. The artist prays to whatever god he had once believed in and then he realizes just how much he has forgotten about himself. He realized that he relied too much on everything else when the most important person to rely on is yourself. Selfish it may seem but to the artist, he realizes that no one else can help him make the first step towards his dream, except himself.

It starts with the person who has the dream. It starts with the artist that is willing to speak, to walk, and to suffer, just to make his ideas a reality.

Description

In the light of a full moon, a man walks barefoot on a beach with shoes in his right hand. Below, the water of an endless sea teases his toes with a touch of the cold night, constantly pushing and pulling. Offshore, gargantuan waves break and white foam devours the watery surface – a menace that the man cannot see but one that he can hear roar with a spit of salt spray that stings his face. Once, a woman had held his left hand and walked alongside the man, and together they would leave a trail of two sets of footprints, but now he is all alone. She was his muse, a constant flame that ignited creative passion with every touch, and for an artist, he needed every candle of his imagination to be lit daily; he needed her more than he needed air.

Ankles vanish into the black water that churns with a slight current. The man, this troubled artist, can feel the sea beyond tug at his skin, imploring him to swim forever in its infinite waters. Limitless is the power of the mind and the possibilities of its creations but limited is the body in enduring such potential. Ideas and dreams abound, his mind was a treasure trove that drew up works of art and wove tales of adventures that found their places in people's hearts, but then it all faded into oblivion when the last words of 'goodbye' reached his ears. Sand molds around the feet of the artist and their millions of grains feel like the thousands of ideas that rotted away when his hands could not create that which his mind told him to. Blank canvases and plain pieces of white paper were all that filled his vision; death.

Half-buried in the water, the man can feel the waves caress his waist with a tender softness that reminds him of the touch of his muse, now so very far away. By plane, she had flown to shores across the sea, to places where he could not go, to places where his life path would not tread. Her parting was an execution that he thought he was ready for but when the knife of life came to sever their interlocked hands, he realized just how much she meant to him. He realized that every story was an adventure he wanted to share with her and every art piece, a vision of their future together. If only he could make such dreams come true.

A muse is an inspiration, perhaps for a lifetime or for a moment, they are not to kept forever. He wished that she would be his till he passed into void, he did not realize how selfish he had become, how devoted he had become to relying on something else other than himself. She became his world and in return, he had forgotten his own. Leviathan waves threaten to swallow that which walks too far into darkness of the water and their waves break against his shoulders. Shoes float on the surface, lost from the hands that once held them, back towards the safety of the shore. The eyes of the artist shine no more and all that's left is a grey husk of self-defeat and lament at how fast his muse had moved on from him. He couldn't move on, he couldn't make the next step without her and news of her inspiring another, that was a noose.

Cold water, unbreathable, chilled to the bone, sinking deeper, the artist falters below the waves that have consumed his being. Beneath the wake above, air escapes from his mouth in bubbles that float towards the surface. Seawater threatens to fill the cavity left behind by the air and the artist knows that he will choke soon, it reminds him of his life before the muse - a life where tragedy accompanied fortunate memories. A happiness contrasted the depression of human mortality, that not every idea can survive the hundreds or less that man has. The artist knew that he couldn't possibly have eternity and limitless strength to breath life into all of his ideas, till he met his muse. She was a woman that had within her, a fire that lent strength and a differing outlook that added perspectives he had thought to think about. He had taken her hand and she had given him boundless hope and energy to finish the works he was destined to produce.

Drugs, pills and powder, women of pleasure, alcohol, some dark, some light, none these vices could accomplish the inspiration that the muse had given him. She had whispered of a date where their tenure together would end but the artist didn't listen - he was too caught up in finally creating that which he had always dreamed about. Eyes relent to the darkness of the murk beneath the waters and the artist falls deeper into the depths of the sea. Life ebbs and he remembers the kiss that sparked his heart and awoke a life within him, a future where his dreams would complete and his ideas, victorious. Laughter, her laughter, and her smiles, they fade from memory as the seawater strangles his lungs. His body convulses, a climax, a re-awakening, he remembers her in his arms, her smell, sweet and fresh, he leans in but she disappears into a mist. Eyes open and the artist gasps for air but there is none below the sea, in this place where his own deluded thoughts of failure had led him to.

The current seizes his failing body and throws it around, like a doll, powerless. The artist prays to whatever god he had once believed in and then he realizes just how much he has forgotten about himself. He realized that he relied too much on everything else when the most important person to rely on is yourself. Selfish it may seem but to the artist, he realizes that no one else can help him make the first step towards his dream, except himself.

It starts with the person who has the dream. It starts with the artist that is willing to speak, to walk, and to suffer, just to make his ideas a reality.