Muse?

Even if I can never have you

I am proud that I love you.

I wrote a lot of poems about you.

Scratched enough ink onto paper to fill oceans.

Funny thing is you were so fleeting

Just a brief moment in this last year.

There were moments I loved you

And moments I hated you

And everything inbetween

And whenever I sat to write a poem

It was your face I sketched out in ink.

And I don’t know if you know that.

But its really not that important to me anymore.

Because you’re gone

I’m standing

And I’m still writing.

I thought you were my muse

The one from whom all my inspiration flowed.

But I realized it was me experiencing the life you created

That gave me inspiration.

The whole time it came from me.

So I could write a thousand more poems about you.

I could fill another seven seas with ink

And it still wouldn’t matter.

Because even if you’re the face I’m sketching

I’m the one holding the pen.