As she lay staring at the ceiling, hearing the few cars pass by outside her third floor apartment window, counting down the days since she’d last been to the park by the stony castle.

Since she’d last felt at peace.

The kind of peace that is blissfully uplifting.

The kind of bliss that very few have the privilege of experiencing.

The last time she was there, he had been walking his dog. He’d tipped his hat in her direction, gesturing a polite yet wordless ‘hello’.

That was all he ever did. Never less, nor more.

Seeing him sit there on the park bench, writing in his journal, made her wonder what he scribbled every time she saw him there.

She wondered what his voice sounded like.

Where he came from.

What his dog’s name was.

There was something peculiarly hard about him.

The kind of hardness that made him seem wiser than his years.

Something about him spoke to her, yet she knew not what it was.

Yet she felt at peace to be sitting there opposite him, watching him scribble while his dog sat there quietly, obediently.

His body was often angled in a way that made him seem aloof. As though he enjoyed his solitude.

Yet to her he wasn’t off limits.

To her he was her muse.


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