Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved words.

She spent hours doodling, and creating other worlds inside her head, transferring her ideas onto pages that she shared excitedly with her parents and anyone else who would listen.

She was content to spend hours with her imaginary friends and words. Sometimes she couldn’t understand why other people didn’t share her enthusiasm for the stories in her mind.

The girl carried her words with her wherever she went.

She was often asked,“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

When she replied that she wanted to be a writer, she received laughter, mocking, scorn and disdain.

Very few people took her seriously—her stories were silly, fanciful, and not serious.

Then one day, she left her words behind in a class at school, and those who believed her to be silly stole the words from her. They were never to be recovered again.

She was so heartbroken that she let the words within her become mute—silent.

They were just stories, she told herself. Silly—not good enough.

As she grew up, she threw all of her energy into the role of wife and mother, and she forgot her words.

She wrote in her journal, and those were the only words that she cared to let come forth—words not meant to be shared with others. She was afraid they would be taken from her again—too silly for others to read.

Every once in a while, she shared something with a trusted loved one—sometimes she was taken seriously, but often she felt ignored.

But, then one day, she found her muse.

He touched places inside her heart and soul that had been long ignored and forgotten. He listened to the words she dared to share and demanded to read more.

He wanted to know her soul—what made her happy and sad and angry and afraid—and everything else in between.

He read, he observed, and he listened.

He paid attention to the words she shared and regarded carefully all that was blocked behind everything that was hidden. He longed to crawl into her skin and experience every feeling that she could pour forth onto the page.

He desired to crack open the lost and secret parts of her heart that had been held safely protected for so long.
And in his careful caresses and gentle protection—the lyrics of her soul burst forth, as a butterfly breaks through the cocoon.

And the girl began to explode from the cage that held her heart captive.

Her words were shared—and other people read and listened. Hearts and souls were changed.

Every time she saw her work published, she thought of her muse—it was his touch, his eyes and ears and voice that came to her mind—the one person that had given her the courage to paint a picture with her words.

For she understood that his ability to help her realize her potential—of allowing her to unlock her words safely in his care—touched the feelings deep inside his core, that were difficult for him to discover on his own.

And her words brought relief to the pain in his heart—for every one of us has a gift that we can share with the world.

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Relephant:

The Muse of My Heart. 

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Author: Stephanie Parry

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Flickr/Jeanne Menj