Muse 103: Influential

found via tametheseas

I looked at the numbers one to ten on my little notepad. The first five were real things I had to do - Get good grades, spend more time with the family... but the other five were things I made up just to make my life look more exciting. The book told me to make a to-do list every morning. They said after crossing a number out, I would feel more accomplished than before, and slowly the mentality would affect my daily life where I would be this successful, organized business woman. My mother was the one who recommended this book to me. She got it off a list from the New York Times bestseller, which she started reading because of her socialite friend. And I sat, looking at my list, wondering how far back this stupid chain of authority went and realized it all ended with Oprah. Fucking hell. I scratched out my entire list and wrote at the top: Be influential. 

Muse 102: Helen

found via unknown

I wonder how Helen feels, not the one in our class, no, Helen of Troy. I want to think of her heart as gold, because only beautiful faces come from a pure heart. In the mirror, I don't see beauty or pleasure - but I've had riots and grudges held against me. I wonder how the face that drew a thousand armies, a thousand boats and battles between the gods did it. How does it feel to be the one cause of a war? How does it feel to be the one responsible for a thousand lives, generations of blood? How does it feel to watch from your tower? How does it feel to be rewritten as a selfish, spiteful woman? But most of all, I want to ask her.  How does it feel to not be able to be with the one you love?

Muse 101: Warwick

found via weheartit

The hotel stood on the corner of the street, at the edge of downtown between the ghetto and the department stores like an ironic icon of society. Dan was driving carefully then, and we were trying our best to get out of downtown without making eye contact with ragged strangers. Every two seconds, I found myself checking the locks, freezing when I could make out private conversations of pedestrians. I kept looking outside and we escaped the stories of Hilton, Macys and oversized parking lots. That's when we passed by the Warwick Hotel. It had long windows, balconies with long iron bars for a fence, semi-transparent window curtains, iconic columns and a lamp post at its entrance. I traced the silhouette, wishing I were inside. It was a perfect place to get lost and write. 

Muse 100: The Blame Game

found via weheartit

The night I died, I felt my eyes pushed to a close by a pair of warm hands and wanted to resist it. I didn't want the cold to take me, but death wasn't a choice. Then there was a sudden exhale and I knew I was no longer the same, like my body had breathed me out, birthed me out after all the pain I had endured. I came face to face with a light streaming through several doors, but the room itself was dark, only illuminated and hinted towards the outside world. I wandered towards the light, and found the doors locked. As I shook the handle, a voice echoed through the small room.

You cannot go outside.

I frowned. Who are you to tell me what do to? And I realized that this was God speaking, the same God that allowed evil, disasters, sickness, death and sorrow. I looked up, but he wasn't there. You would throw people out of your home because they won't chose you. I continued to search the ceiling, but he wasn't there, not even a voice box. If he was the light, then I could make do with the dark. Of course, he heard the voices in my head, and whispered in return. He did not have to whisper, his voice was strong and loud regardless. 

I am only giving you what you have chosen all along. 

A world without me, a world to stay as what you know, with me outside.

Muse 99: Stories We Tell

found via weheartit

I was eight when I heard my first ghost story. It was worse than riding a roller coaster, worse than sitting alone in the dark, wondering if my parents remembered where I was. My cousin sat across from me, in broad daylight, with a bowl of cereal in front of her, as she told me about the dumb little girl that didn't know what laid in the dark. As soon as the story ended, I began that little girl, wary of shadows, crying when the blackness crept towards me. I cuddled with my blankets and hid underneath its comfort until I forgot about the stories. But the stories were warnings. Soon I forgot all about the ghosts in the darkness and wanted to walk in, wanted to bring light where the shadows were. The stories were told too early, she should've told me later, because in those stories, the ghosts always win.

Muse 98: First Chairs

found via brunopostigo

She was a violinist and he played the cello. By the order of the orchestra, musical hierarchy and general  consensus, he sat behind her where his sound could support hers. She was first chair of the violins and he was the first chair of the cellos. They were musically a match made in heaven and he wondered if she noticed that too, but all he saw was the back of her head. Her black hair ran straight down like a waterfall, and his eyes dropped whenever her movements hinted at turning around. When he played, he didn't read the sheets because the notes hung delicately in the air. He knew the rhythm by watching her dance, and the song by hearing her hum. Her voice was like gold, and his voice went by unnoticed, just as it always had with the audience. While she played the alone, he played in the background, and when she packed up her violin to go, he watched, hiding low in the shadows, too afraid to ask for a solo.

Muse 97: You'll Save Me Right?

found via luphia

While I sat, sick in the stomach, with tired eyes, I felt that flicker again. It was like a relapse in time, a shifting in the air and I swear the world in front of me cracked in two. My eyes were seeing things separately instead of as one. It was as if the foundation underneath me had fallen out, ready to suck me in because I didn't want to choose between worlds. There was one where he wasn't dead, but I didn't have her and the other was what I had now, but I didn't want to live with one and not have the other - and then I woke up, snapped to my senses, and everything merged as one again. People think I'm crazy when I tell them that a parallel universe exists. Then I ask them why God gave us two eyes, and there is no answer.

Muse 96: Like Always

found via amanda mason

She carried jars of water from the places she had been. Places of water that mirrored her mind when she got there or at a moment when it seemed as if the waters and her mind coexisted as one. The water was like her brain-fluid, swishing about. Torrid waves and rushing hues of ocean blue. I remember each one, she said. Where they are from and what they are - I mean, what I was thinking about. She put the jars on her window sill. The colors are transparent and the tide is still.

Muse 95: Desperado

source unknown

I'm down three hundred. In the long run of times I've been going out, that's considered a good day. Imagine a fantastic day - I'd be running in the positive numbers, but right now I'm just trying to break even. I count the papers in my hand, registering numbers instead of faces, and wish I had more to tuck underneath my mattress. Yeah, I'm one of those folks. I'd save it in the bank for interest, but I don't even have enough to open an account. These four bills are going towards my monthly payment just to have a roof over my head, and it's depressing. I tuck it under and don't look back. The money is green, but my world is black and white. It only gets darker every time another bill slips away. I should get a job. A proper one with a contract and health insurance, but it's just faster if I hit the jackpot. It's easier that way. And honestly, if it weren't for that queen of diamonds, I would've won. 

Fuck it. I need another cigarette. 

I'll be luckier next time.

Muse 94: Show Me Your Scars

source unknown

It was at a M83 concert where we first met. I saw your arms and you saw mine for what they were because we knew that we were the same. For the first time, it wasn't the jarring words that were accusing or degrading but ones that expressed genuine interest as you smiled at raised your hands, showing me that just as well, you were in pain too. I looked around us and we all looked the same. Our arms had scars, lines of youth, where blood had run down. Once upon a time we hurt and then we healed. Improperly though. 

People look at me sometimes, on the street at my arms that scream out for attention because that's all I wanted. And now I found you in a crowd of everyone that was alike, with scars, with baggage and so very much alike. We all wore wristbands, wore band tees and Converse shoes, but somehow I got your attention anyway. I showed you my scars and you laughed, showing me yours. 

Muse 93: How Did We Trust That?

found via beautyineverything

The light came in like it did every morning, through the windows, through the cracks, and through my fingers. My hand did nothing to shield my eyes from the sun, so I closed them and made my way out of bed by touch. The rough edges of the broken window frame used to give me splinters, but out of habit and practice, they don't hurt anymore. Nothing about this dilapidating house hurts anymore - I think I've grown immune, as all people do to the same allergies and pains, to whatever makes this place all torn up. It doesn't hurt anymore, but when I look how rusty the windowsill is, I wonder how I let myself trust him so easily. I put flowers and pictures to cover up the stains, but the light still shines on what I don't want to see.

Muse 92: Another World

found via adelee

I've heard stories about fish people or mer-people - well, people that live beneath the water. They breathe underwater and suffocate on land; glide between rivers and stumble on sand. I heard that they loved each other wholly without judgment or presumptuous misconceptions; that they have luxurious flowing hair that never tangles, and when they swim the undulating waves ripple like ribbons behind them. Ever since I was a little girl, I was fascinated with the possibilities underneath that liquid mirror. I saw myself and wondered if it was really a mermaid looking back at me, a girl just as curious to know what it's like to live where you don't belong. When I'm by the lake, it's just by habit that I let my fingers run gently over the water, wanting to feel the embrace of the other person touching me... but I don't know if I'll still smile when a hand, even if it is the most beautiful hand that belongs to the most handsome of merman, comes out to welcome me into their world. 

Muse 91: Designated

found via unknown

As the years have gone by, I'm sitting in this car alone, wondering why it's taken so long for me to realize that you're the one who's been driving. You pick me up when I'm crying, when I'm weak, and you don't ask questions when I begged to be taken back. You look at me worried with a heavy heart, unsure of how to fix me. It used to be irritating, like the unknown hand that wouldn't let me drink. But like always, I wake up feeling more hollow and empty than ever. Just as I wake up to cold bed sheets and wonder who is left, you open the door and smile. All I do is cry thankfully that you have not changed. 

Thank you, mom.

Muse 90: Position

credit via lauryn holmquist

"I've discovered something new today," I said. We sit across from each other in a way that won't annoy single people by looking like clingy lovers. Our hands are barely touching, and it feels nice this way. A bit like we're a secret that keeps people guessing. You look up with a brightness in your eyes and go, "Yeah? What'd you learn?" And, of course I have it in my purse, I pull out a Cosmopolitan magazine and show you the article about sleeping positions. There are quite a few, but we quickly point out that I sleep in the foetus position and you sleep like a yearner. And I don't like the fact that I'm apparently sensitive on the inside and the tough exterior is just a mask, but you laugh it off and comfort me. "Think about it this way. I'm the stubborn yearner that doesn't change their mind, and I chose you." Then you take the magazine and rip out the page saying its ridiculous because we don't sleep alone and our position together works out just fine.

Muse 89: Effy

she was this girl i enived, the one who i thought could show me exactly how great it is to be alone without needing anyone. and then reality set in, into me and into her, and i realized that deep down to the core, we were just souls made of the same stuff. we were scared of being alone. we were scared of finding someone who we loved and in the end, didn't want us at all. we wore the strongest masks because we have the weakest insides. you see that beautiful house over there on the block? the curtains are closed and the dust has settled. and inside, everything is gone because the people have moved out.

Muse 88: Home

found via yuli.bow

Things weren't so difficult he decided. The country was foreign, but the scenery was breathtaking in that way. He loved how he could look out the window and hear the sounds of people passing. They were so alive, and full of soul. He didn't have to strain and stress over every syllable. The cars seemed to be a different shade than the ones from home - a duller, nostalgic color that was oddly admirable. The man inside that buggy could've been once a general, now enjoying the calm of the day. As he watched the world spin around him, he ate his cereal. Nothing moved too fast or too slow, and this was exactly how he wanted to live.

Muse 87: Paper Town

found via melanielockwood

It's so hard to find you. They told me it's all worth it in the end, that when I see you at the end of the day, it's like finding you at the end of the aisle. That's what all my friends, who have someone to hold hands with, tell me. They comfort me, sincerely comfort me, under the impression that things will work out in the end. 

I was walking in our town's history museum today, and I saw an old paper map that was drawn sometime during the 1870s. While I  was reading the description, I discovered that the small coffee stain, normally used to mark secrets and codes, was actually a point to mark a paper town. Paper towns were places fictionally created to make sure no one plagiarized maps. I guess I realized then that love stories were like maps. Point A to Point B all lead me to you, and everyone gives me advice on how to get there, but you're my paper town just like I am yours and no one will ever get the route right except us.