I can't eat. I can't sleep.
I keep telling myself that I'll get through this, that I'll find my inspiration.
When I lie in my bed at night, there's this empty feeling inside of me. A feeling inside that I'm missing something. And it's not just my muse. It's something else. Something else is missing. This bed is cold. It's dreary and lonesome and I'm tired of sleeping by myself, quiet nights with no one to talk to or share a cup of tea with by the fire place. I haven't had a real love since I was 20. And now I'm 28 years old, about to turn 29 in just a matter of days. I don't even want someone perfect. I'm not asking for a model with perfect complexion and a toned body. I much more admire a girl with flaws and things that make her different from the rest. But what I really want is someone who is capable of thinking outside of the box. A girl who will listen to my ideas, and even when she thinks they are crazy, she tells me that nothing is impossible. That's what I want to believe. Nothing is impossible. But how can I believe that when it feels impossible for me to find my spark. My light. My soul mate?
Then it hits me. It hits me like a fucking rock to my face. And I get out of bed, turn on the lights and sit at my desk. My typewriter has been set up and lined up for months, in case a miracle like this happened and I got inspiration. My fingers begin to type, clacking on the keyboard, writing down everything that comes to mind.
Her name is Arabella. She wears black mostly, and sometimes red or purple. High heeled boots that go up to her knees, but the heels aren't too high, because she's smart enough to wear shoes that won't hurt her feet after only a few hours. When she swims, she wears a silver swimsuit, and her legs look heavenly in it. When it's cold, she wears a black coat with cheeta print lining. It keeps her neck warm, in which a spiked collar is strapped. Sometimes she wears only a slip underneath, just to torture me when the moment comes. Her hair is medium length, slightly wavy and cut right above her breasts. It's blacker than the night sky, and shiny, with whispy bangs that lie gently over her forehead. Her eyes are brown, but light enough to highlight her face, especially when she wears her signature silver eyeshadow with a classic cat eye. As for her personality... to most that is a mystery. She doesn't open up to people quickly, because she thinks most people don't deserve to know what really happens in her mind. She has her own ideas, and although she's open to hearing others opinions, she usually sticks with her own. Her mind is like a diamond. Yet her thoughts are not always beautiful. She's polite, sometimes cold and distant, but always painfully honest and blunt. If you asked Arabella if she is a good person, she would tell you she isn't. But she is. She would say she isn't because she believes in things that others don't. Like gay marriage, legalizing pot, abortion. Things most people believe are wrong. And she gets into trouble whenever she can. She loves breaking the rules and almost always gets away with it. She's a sinner at the hand of God, so she thinks she must not be a very good person at all. But I know she is. She couldn't hurt even the most insignificant of creatures. That wouldn't go well in her eyes. Her lips are like the galaxy's edge. The tiniest of stars get stuck between her eyelashes, which makes her gaze so damn bright. I want to be the cigarette between her dark red lips. I want to be the air that she breathes. Her voice, it drips with honey and vodka, and everything she does, she does with class. There is nothing in this world better than Arabella.
I want to be hers.