Each shrine of my art
is dedicated
to the muse
which is you.
And each rung of my dreams
spools and hinges
on your existence.
I only started to breathe
real air
when you stood still
to breathe
next to me–
perhaps the first to just stand there
doing nothing,
saying nothing,
but just there with me,
for hours and days on end,
because just being near
is enough.
I never believe in the frivolities
or romance or love.
I even prayed to God
to take away my heart
and give me eyes to see
the soul and ugliness
of every man I meet.
I only sought for someone
who wouldn’t leave me,
but instead I found myself
hugged into the pages
of a soft, warm novel,
read by others
for comfort.
You are my heart.
And no riches or fortune
will bring me joy
without you.
And you will always be
my cheesy inspiration.
Author T.S. Lowe 