the toxic muse

There are people that come into my life that leave an impression. A good impression, one that inspires curiosity and longing and self-bettering. They spark within me a creative process fueled by an urgency to meet them on the level at which I perceive them to be.

Beautiful souls, they are. And so very lost.

I have a history with these kinds of people. A track record. It's not a good one. When I find them, or they me, I am overwhelmed with a desire to reach out. Connect. It makes me sick to my stomach, always has, and yet I've always done it.

Until now.

The good and the bad. Pleasure and pain. The intoxicating lure into relapse. Affiliation is not safe with these lost souls. Not for me. My curiosity and interest are genuine, but there are too many uncertainties to obtain any real clarity on my motives. That observation in itself is pretty clear, I suppose.

And still I long for their attention. Their compliments. Their awe. I miss them. Even when I barely know them.

I embarrass myself with my own brutal honesty.

Am I wild enough for you? Do I write good enough for you? Would a hundred thousand voices of approval be enough for me if yours should disapprove of my creations, or worse, be simply disinterested?

Who are you in my psyche? What do I need from the person I imagine you to be in order to feel whole on my own?

_{All pictures and words copyright Anna Horvitz (me) and cannot be used without my consent.}