She is gone and I am not even broken

Now I am free as in very free at last

I’m on top of the world In front of the crowd, eh oh, eh oh oh Smoke in the air, look at me now, eh oh, eh oh oh Oh oh baby, oh oh baby I’m on top of the world In front of the crowd, eh oh, eh oh oh

Hmmn, looking back now, there’s no regrets Moving forward, that’s all is left Wouldn’t change a thing even if I could I’m stronger now, which was for the… — D’Banj

The muse is exhausted because she has to pour the water of inspiration, as well as make art herself and bear children. — Marlene Dumas

Finally, she has left me — left me high and dry, left me quietly and without a word: I should be broken but I am not. May be I will be when I come down from this high and hit the hard earth, the drunk with a hangover of a crushing headache and bleary swollen eyes in that hazy morning after.

Maybe then the pain will come descending heavily on me. Until then, this is some air of liberation and I am free, out of the net — disentangled, unencumbered and not accountable.

Free, as in very free. I don’t hear her turn in bed, her breath is not in my face, her scents are not in my nostrils; no strands of her hair on the pillow.

Her bathrobe is not hanging anywhere, her makeup cabinets are empty. She is not downstairs walking about barefoot, not in the kitchen cooking up stuff, not on the sofa in bum-shorts and loose linen or cotton white shirts, her long legs tucked in, a fat novel covering her face.

She is not in the bathroom: I‘ve listened by the door — no one running water.

She’s gone, leaving me to myself and happier than I was before she moved in and made me her page, waking me in the night to write out some outline, interrupting my thoughts during free time outings, asking me to take notes.

She’s gone. My Muse is gone; the taskmistress is gone. I’ve no charge. I've no blank face for a blank page

I've thrown away the pen, tossed out the scrapbook and changed to passwords I can't ever remember to deny me keyboard access. The chain is broken. I am out of jail, played my parole card to walk free, free to play soccer or snooker, free to be a sucker, free to be free and write not even a word.

Guess I ran her out of town; pray she’s gone for good

OU032021