Immortalized, The Writer's Muse

If ever she tells you she’s a writer, bask in her loyalty.

It doesn’t get truer than this.

If on dewy nights, she stares through your eyes like glass,

understand that you have become her muse--

a responsibility you must carry with the audacity of a sailor

who mocks the calm before the storm.

Let her weather you.

When you wake, her fingers may be encased in yours.

Know she is pondering how to hold your heart without breaking it.

Tears are frequent when you love a writer.

Swim with her for an afternoon in the ocean of despair.

Rescue her when it gets too deep.

Later, she’ll thank you for the masterpiece

she births once she understands her grief.

If ever she can’t find the right word, lend her a few.

Be patient when she mulls them over then refuses their weight.

“It just doesn’t sound right,” she might say.

She’ll teach you how to see between the lines,

understand the subtleties in casual conversation.

If ever she lets you read her writing,

it won’t be out of insecurity

but rather on some drunken evening

when she believes herself to be a queen

or some immortal soul who has blessed you with enlightenment.

Entertain her fantasies.

If ever she tells you she’s a writer,

you can hold your ear to her mouth like a seashell

and listen for the whisper of another realm

calling.