He thought he knew all the flavours, colours and textures of his emotions and experiences;
the bitter taste of defeat
the fleeting sunlight warmth of joy
the grey overwhelming blankness of depression
the warm soft hug of comfort or compassion
the deep glass shard cuts of pain
the brief shining brightness of victory
the slow fester of annoyance and frustration
the enveloping black hole of hate and vengeance
These. All of these he had been. They had been him on some occasions. Still were now and then if he was honest with himself.
But this. This slow burning warmth that brightened at her smile, the sound of her voice. The soft fragrance of her hair, the sassy sway in her walk. That empty feeling when she wasn't near and the quick skip of his heart when she was.
He had no word, no experience to encompass this.
So my muse may not be entirely gone, AWOL but she isnt banging on the door with plump new stories either. So maybe I need to woo her to prove my intent.
This fell into my brain around 2am last night - if you like it let me know as there could well be a second POV and who knows, maybe even more?
In other news its trying to be summer here, and I am recovering from my surgery reasonably well, which might be why my brain is finally switching back online for more creative outlets after 3 weeks of no work!
