I have to say that I have never before been referred to as someone’s muse. I’ll be honest here; the first thing that passed through my mind was that he was taking the piss. Seriously. I thought, ‘You don’t mean that,’ which I think says something more about my own issues than about what is arguably the sweetest way a man could ever use to introduce his date to another person.
It makes me wonder, though. Does he really think of me when he’s writing, acting, or striving toward his goals? Do I really inspire him to greater things, and do I give him inspiration when he’s struggling with a story or an action or anything else he does in his everyday life? I mean, that’s what a muse does, right? A muse provides inspiration when it is needed most, giving that strange flavor to a story and breathing the artist’s body to life in a way that they did not know existed before. Without a muse, we are nothing as artists; lifeless and void of everything that gives us strength in the form of inspiration. So if I am really and truly his muse, then what an influence I must be in his life whether or not I am physically present in it at any given moment.
What I find interesting is, if I’m honest with myself (and all of you), he is also my muse. He has inspired things that I had not previously thought were possible, both in everyday life as well as in my art. I had been struggling with my writing until he came along, and now I can pull stories from midair the way that I used to. I had been struggling with acting before we began getting to know one another, and now I see ways to add life to characters I pick up like I did before my acting-block. He is my muse, as well, and it’s a wonder that these supposedly observational artist’s eyes of mine could not see it before he gave his description of my influence on his life to a complete stranger in four words: This is my muse.