There she was standing with her body held upright. Her eyes full of mascara, tiny eyes beyond all those black shades were enviable,attractive and yet innocent somehow or atleast seemed so.
The artist went up to her and asked, "It happens so seldomly that a creation like you meets a creator like me, don't you want to be a part of something magical?"
She waited for a while, she took her time, then she said "I give myself to you for the things you promise me, for the things you say that are magical"
The artist drew, the artist sang, he composed and he wrote.
She amused him, she bemused him, she left him dead, yet she left him wanting.
And his epitaph read:
Here lies a muse who thought he was an artist
But he died the way he thought..
Suspecting the life in itself........