THURSDAY 11:58pm (written on Friday morning)

Every writer has their muse, that little spirit that propels their pen across the page. Sometimes it’s an experience, one that changes your perspective on the world and lets you see in ways never imagined. Other times it’s an idea that just won’t let go, or a feeling you’re trying to express or even a diamond ring or a lover. Sometimes she’s standing right in front of you and you don’t even know it yet.

I first met my muse near a portable toilet in Miami while exchanging gifts with a friend. We shot each other a look, exchanged names and disappeared into the crowd. I had no idea that she was her. Then, one enchanted domino fell upon another and another and another. Soon we were holding hands on sandy beach towels, trading secrets of the tongue, rewriting the philosophies of life, waking up nude woven in each other’s arms.

Oh, but Destiny had different plans for us. I had my plane ticket to Cali, she had her island. There was nothing we could do but succumb to the desires of stars.

However, she hasn’t entirely disappeared. She is there behind every word I stitch, behind every thought I imbue into my journal, behind every heart beat, behind every secret desire, behind every smile, massaging my mind from apathy. She’s there when I pray. Yes, pray. I pray every single night. One breath for my dad, one breath for my mom, one breath for my brother, my sister, one for my grandparents, one for my aunts and uncles and friends, one for our leaders, one for my manuscript, one for me, and two for her. Always two for her.