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Writing Prompt - The Morning After

He watched her sleep the exhausted sleep of the writer.

After a long day in the sun together, she had sat with him on the shore quietly, then suddenly jumped up in search of pen and paper. The Muse had come in on the waves and he hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps. The quiet moment had been broken, and that was the end of their luxurious rest by the sea.

She wrote all the way home, sometimes twirling her pen in the air, creating invisible fireworks as she sought the right word - pulling it out of the ether. He knew better than to interrupt or offer insight. The Muse had been gone a while and, with its return, there was nothing he could do but drive her home.

She'd stayed hunched over the keys a few hours, lost in the world she'd been clawing her way back to for months. He had left food for her as he tidied the kitchen and worked to clear the dead tree out back that had fallen the day before. It kept him out of the house so he wouldn't be undefoot. With all those ideas swirling around her like campfire sparks, he didn't want to get in the way.

Bedding down later, he felt the weariness in his back from the swings of the axe. Things got quiet out by her desk, but he didn't get up to check on her. She'd come in on her own soon enough, weary but sated. The happy look on her face was all the confirmation he needed to know she'd had a good visit with the Muse. She promptly disrobed and dropped off to sleep, where he knew the dreams would only be filled with more words, yearning to be birthed onto a fresh page in the morning.

Watching her a moment, enjoying her curves, he wondered what it was like to live in more than one world. tweet this! He wished he could understand what it was like for her to hear other people inside of her. She was unassuming to those on the street, perhaps even shy. But the inner world was a wild one, full of suspense and people pushing themselves past the limits to find and secure true love in ways he couldn't foresee. She knew people he could only meet through her words. What an amazing mystery she shared; what a burden she hid.

The next morning, sunlight streamed in through a break in the curtain. He'd dreamt of taking her on the beach, their slow rhythm matching the waves. Turning to see if she was awake, he saw her limp hand resting on her latest find, a finger tucked into the chapter where she'd drifted off. The cat, illuminated by the sunlight, kept vigil as if he'd shared the secret late night read - a bit possessive of his owner.

Her breath was even, an outward sign that everything was at rest. Yet, he knew that inside there was more going on that would need to be chronicled. Snaking a hungry arm around her waist, he pulled up close. Outside, the morning train sounded, the horn muted by the distant trees. The cat heaved a sigh and stretched a paw. The clock quietly ticked away the minutes.

In the corner, the Muse sat, jealous...waiting.


What does the photo prompt in your writers mind? I'd love to hear it in the comments below!


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