I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home.
***
Until now, my poems have woven themes dark enough to strangle with their bitter emotions. Yet, since meeting him, it's become a maddening challenge not to etch his essence into every line. I admitted one lazy afternoon.
There I was, perched on the couch, my legs draped casually over his, wrapped in the warmth of my golden cardigan, as my finger traced the contour of his face.
"My verses are now drenched in the hues of autumn's chill and the heat of summer's touch upon your skin, leaving me to ponder what winter's verse will bring." I confessed out aloud, as he played with my hair, his eyes shining with so much gentleness.
Every time I gaze upon him, I find poetry in the gleam of his eyes, the curve of his smile, the stance of his posture, and the melody of his laughter—most of all, in the companionship he offers.
This angel was like my muse…
My finger paused. My heart sank, words halting abruptly.
'You are my muse,' I recalled uttering those very words, accompanied by laughter as light as the breeze, while my chest tightened. Memories of my first love, whom I had crafted with my finest pen, came crashing back.
'I am honored to be your muse then, oh Jane Austen,' he had teased, and my cheeks crimsoned with the delicate touch of embarrassment.
It was as if a switch was switched on, and everything came rushing in.
It felt like a lifetime ago. How did I manage to forget those feelings? Blurred by merely two seasons as if they never existed?
"Are you alright?" Gabriel's voice, ever the angelic chord that could dispel the ghosts of a troubled past, failed to quell the panic rising within me as I met his gaze. He was not him, I reminded myself, but he was still a 'he.'
A 'he' who rendered the world safer, brighter, and more golden for me, yet it couldn't erase the fact that once, in a spring long past, someone else had painted me red. That someone had made me feel secure, joyful, and at ease, and yet…
"I cannot…" My voice cracked as I faced Gabriel, his brows knitting together in confusion. "I cannot allow you to be my muse," I confessed, the shadow of a soul once kissed by darkness still lingering. I thought it had faded, but it hadn't.
"Ouch!" he grimaced, though his tone danced with amusement.
"I'm serious, Gabriel," I snapped, capturing his full attention. "I don't want you to be my muse," I repeated, convincing myself more than him.
I declared, the words slicing through the tense silence. Fear had its icy grip on me, panic held me captive, yet the confession tumbled from my lips unbidden.
"Let's end this before we cause each other pain," I urged, rising from the cocoon of his warmth.
"End what?" Gabriel's voice thundered, a storm of anger and hurt swirling beneath his words. I questioned whether it was my shifting moods that stirred his tempest or if, in truth, there was nothing to end.
"This!" My voice shattered the air, pointing at the space between us. "You and me, lost in a fantasy spun from myths, books, and films!"
"When did I ever wish to pretend with you?" he bellowed, and my heart constricted, yet it didn't silence the truth clamoring for release.
"Then let's shatter this illusion because I'm weary of playing roles with you," I cried out, desperation flaring as I flung my arms wide.
"Have I wronged you to deserve such words?" His pained query halted my onslaught, my heart fracturing further at the sight of the anguish etched in his eyes—the anguish I had etched.
"You've been kind," I murmured. "You've shown me the kindest corners of the universe, painted my world with colors I never knew. But my journey to self-discovery was a path I was to walk alone."
"I'm here, and I'm not complaining," he said, his hand cradling mine against his chest with a tenderness that made my resolve waver.
"But I am," a single tear betrayed my turmoil.
"Why?" he implored, his plea wrapping around my heart.
"Because you're not real," I whispered, the words like arrows piercing through the illusion. "You're a mirage of what life could be, but once this fantasy fades, we'll be thrust back into our separate worlds…" and I cannot bear the thought of feeling lost once more, of being left behind again. So perhaps it's best if…I pulled my hand from his.
"I am leaving, it is time for me to find myself, in the winter, don't you agree?" I attempted a laugh, but it was strangled by a sob that rose unbidden.
I hated it, the unraveling of this sweet dream, the bitter taste of an ending I never wished for. I loathed the final embrace, his arms encircling me with a desperate tightness, a reluctance to release me into the void.
And oh, how I detested his understanding nod, the gentle wave of farewell as I shouldered my luggage, heavy with more than just belongings.
But most of all, I abhorred the ghost of the man from my past, the one who compelled me to abandon this angelic presence; who instilled such doubt within me that I could see nothing beyond the shadows of my fears and insecurities.
A chill breeze struck at the core of my being as I turned away from him, each step a foray into the winter's onset. How merciless, how frigid will the coming season prove to be?
End Of Part One....