My muse

Look, the truth is… I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know when or where I fell in love with you; when your smile turned brighter and my name coming out from your lips started sounding sweeter… But it did, and now is stupid to try and stop the time.

The truth is, that no matter when or where; you’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours. Or, at least, that’s what love says, right? But art isn’t supposed to be caught by humans dirt feelings, unworthy of it’s pure and deep meaning. Because we’re selfish, and we tend to destroy what’s naturally beautiful.

Owning you, as owning your art, would directly mean to destroy the most important fact that makes art what it actually is. Owning you and claiming you as mine would mean cutting a bird’s wings or stealing shine from the stars… A crime, a cruel and heartless crime.

You can’t be owned, my muse. As wind, you came across my heart and stole my soul with a single look, and stole my breath by a simple smirk.

Love seems to mean owning, declaring someone yours, giving you credit to someone’s happiness… But, if that’s the real truth… Then I don’t love you, Lili Pauline Reinhart… ‘Cause I admire you, and want you… My heart burns into ashes by it’s desire…

…I love you, my muse… But I love you in the most corrupted meaning of love (wrongly we relate corruption with the worst… When, actually, chaos was the beginning of this fake peace we love. Corruption could be the most beautiful feeling in the correct hearts); I love you widely and uncontrollably.