I feel the influence of your mind when you grip the pen tightly; I am touched by your outpouring of emotion. I am part of your fluid thought, bled directly from your heart although your mind is in control. As you pause, it gives me cause for concern – my own mortality is directly linked to yours. I am but a figment of your imagination, yet without your dreams, I am nothing. I am compelled to lie in wait on those days you feel blank and I am a mere reflection of that void. And I wait – patient for your return, knowing your ideas of today are the musings of tomorrow. Sometimes, with no apparent direction and obvious distractions, you struggle to move forward, but that is where your passion carries us through. I feel your excitement when it hits – there is no restriction, you have no boundaries, dreams become ideas, thoughts materialize, and then words… lovely words fall upon me. I am no longer pale, void of expression; I am your creative realization, for without you, I am but an empty page.
You count on me to contain and number all your collective creativity; a summation of your commitment. We have grown to be a part on one another’s lives, as your passion borders obsession and my physical being grows fat, in turn, with your investment of attention and time. There are still days when I lie in wait, lonely, wanting for your touch, needing your emotion. Unlike before… the separation is unbearable as you become angered, even frustrated with me. You mark me with bold stroked revisions and, at times, it seems you cannot move forward until you have marked me in some way. I am no longer fresh – as if an older lover you have grown used to and weary of amusing. Ah… but when you are in the moment and the mood hits, your eyes shine with new direction, renewed focus, and determined effort! You accept that change is necessary and you validate my very being with this acceptance. I savor your return because I have so longed for the freedom of the past. I bite my tongue the days you ignore me – wanting to tell you to make good on your promises. You question what and why and who, with too many rules to free your creativity. We are too far involved, though, to go back to the beginning; I need more, you need more… I am your collaboration in the making.
I pass through many hands, feeling used and abused, open to the leering late night ‘candle burning at both ends’ review. I am no longer feeling special. I fall onto that pile of others in the order received, being prodded and considered and rejected. Even you – you, after all we’ve been through, you seem distant, and we no longer spend quality time together. I see you with others, your eyes glowing with that newness I once experienced, your passion I once craved – it’s like you have forgotten me. I am concerned… until I see that look of sadness cross your face and you pick me up, holding me close, stroking my cover. I can only hope you’d never let me go, but I know, I’ve done my time with you. I need to survive out there in the big world, even though I lack validation, experience, and the fame you desire. Although there are others, we both suffer from separation anxiety; I was your first and you think I am not good enough. All the while, I think – why are you so hard on yourself… I will always be a product of your imagination and, therefore, I am at my best.