Blake
There’s a buzzing…or maybe it’s a low hum. Either way it’s pulsing through my body and I’m wide awake at 4 a.m.
What I feel is nearly impossible to describe, except to say it’s the complete absence of the dullness that’s filled me for months. Call it boredom, call it a lack of inspiration. Whatever name you give it, the gigantic red stop sign that's been sitting in front of my face, the one with the words, “The struggle is real”, is finally gone. Can I get an amen?
Yeah, yeah, I know, what am I whining about? From the outside looking in, my life is one long conga line of fabulous. I’ve got a dope apartment, serious cash, women whenever I want them, and my career is…well…who wouldn’t want it.? Everyone thinks I’m living the dream.
Well, fuck ‘em, because until right this minute, something was definitely missing – and now, for some inexplicable reason, I feel energized.
Maybe it’s her.
Next to me, Katherine stirs and the sheet slips just enough so that I can see the sensual curve of her hip and her long legs. Her bare back is exposed and my fingers recall the softness of her skin. I lie on my side propping my head up with my hand, and stare at her. I can’t help it.
I’m not used to women spending the night, but Katherine is… different. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring. She's all those things…and something else. I just can’t give it a name yet.
But I’m not making a move, which is unusual for me. There’s something going on here.
Between the buzz I feel, and naked Katherine a few inches away, I’m actually torn about what to do. Unmoving, I watch as her chest rises and falls with each breath, and in my mind’s eye I imagine her against the warm golden tones of an evening sunset as I sketch the outlines of her body on a canvas.
It’s clear, I’m bewitched and I chuckle to myself thinking she’s somehow put a spell on me. There’s no other way to explain the gravitational pull I feel for her, because women don’t usually affect me like this. It’s always been the other way around. But this one…
I chastise myself. Okay, don’t get stupid. The only powers she has she used last night. They may have felt supernatural, but it was just flesh on flesh. Don’t put too much into this.
I raise my hand to touch her luscious skin but stop short. I can’t believe I’m restraining myself from reaching over and taking her because this is not how I play this game.
I want her, but at the same time there’s an equally powerful sensation tugging me away. It’s that feeling I’ve been trying to grasp since I woke up.
With each deep breath I take, I’m working on settling this restlessness that has me by the neck. A few minutes pass and it all finally coalesces. I know what this unsettling feeling is and I need to handle it right now.
With only a momentary feeling of regret, I quietly leave the bed, because my desire to paint is back with an indescribable urgency. My pulse is racing and my hands are itching to feel the brush as it strokes the canvas.
Dressing quietly, I scribble a note,
K – Had a great time. Call you later. B
I stop for a minute knowing it's too cursory. What I really want to tell her is that she seems to have opened me up in some way, because inspiration has been hard to come by and suddenly I’m full of it.
But I don’t bother with a re-write. I place the note on the pillow beside her so she doesn’t wake up confused to find me gone.
I head to the studio. I know I will be there for a while. I get so consumed by my art when I am inspired, that time passes indefinitely for me.
Taking a last glance at the direction of the bedroom, I tell myself I really will call her. Feeling assured by that thought, I close the door of the studio behind me.
Once inside, I don’t have to stop and think, because I’m possessed with ideas. It’s the only way I can describe what’s happening to me. Grabbing the biggest canvas, I drag it to the center of the room where the morning light is brightest. There are dozens of images floating through my mind, but they're all images of her. Of Katherine.
With the canvas in front of me, I take only a moment before I make the first bold stroke. There’s no confusion about what this piece will be. She’s in my head with each brush stroke, as if I’m painting a sensual symphony of colors.
I feel like I'm on fire and that hasn’t happened in too long. Much too long.
Katherine is my inspiration now, and I’m not going to question it. She’s my muse and I must have her sit for me. I don’t know how, but I’m not gonna work myself into a state about right now.
I’m here in my studio and it’s where I need to be.
I’ll call her. Later.