@60slondon asked : you know,
you've been my muse this whole time.
TO SET THE SCENE - THE ROOM IS BATHED IN PINK , INSTEAD OF RED ; NEITHER OF YOU LIVE THERE ANYMORE , THOUGH YOUR BONES REST ATOP THE CORPSES YOU’D PUT THERE , BUT SOMETIMES THE DREAMS YOU FAADE INTO PULL THE PAIR INTO THE BED YOU SHARED - NOT TOGETHER , BUT YEARS APART . THE SHEETS ARE THIN AND TRANSLUCENT , ALMOST LIKE THE FABRIC SHE FOLDS AND LAYERS TO CAPTURE YOUR ESSENCE ON MANNEQUINS IN HER WAKING HOURS . you take some smug satisfaction that no matter how hard anybody may try, her attention always falls back on you- you watch her work in the mirrors, a quirk of the brow, a promise for later.
SHE SAYS IT LIKE IT’S A SHOCK - and you roll your eyes with that sharp little smile you have, gaze focused and amused with what she believes to be some sort of wild confession. OF COURSE YOU KNOW ; she’d appeared in your hair, making your dress, wearing your coat, listening to the same records you used to in the very same room. she leaves her sketches on her desk, and they’ve always got the same blonde, with the same eyes- it makes you shift in a strange satisfaction, really. you like having her attention on you, more than you used to tolerate anyone else’s.
you have come to terms with a lot of yourself, lately, in death, experiencing the world through different eyes and hands, a lifetime outside of your own, understanding your wants and needs much easier now without the heaviness of your youth eating away at you from the inside; the fire burned away the old you, giving you a chance to understand yourself and how you fit better in soft curves than you ever did in harsh edges.
“ of course i do. of course i am - who else would it be? ” NOT EVERYONE HAS A MUSE , but that’s besides the point. the sheet around you billows around your legs slightly thanks to the faint breeze invading through the open windows ( THE STREETS OUTSIDE ARE NOT THE SAME AS IN REAL LIFE ; INSTEAD , THEY’RE PICTURESQUE AND COBBLESTONE ) . it’s all you’re wearing, and you peer over your shoulder back at her, as if to check if the image has inspired her somewhat towards a new piece.
“ what was it you said once? when i imagine her wearing it ... she’s wearing the dress, the dress isn’t wearing her. ”
