As the hours ticked away, he continued to sit alone in his chair. It was yet another cold day outside but within his basement, he sat with a big smile on his face. His thoughts jumped between the present and the past every now and then. The tiny earphones lodged within his earlobes innocently continued to play music which somehow magically seemed to rhyme with his thoughts.
The hours ticked away, but he took no notice of time. Within his own world, time had stopped still. In his world, time was a conspiracy theory that had been propounded to keep people from experiencing freedom. But, none of that affected him now. In his own world he was happy, so happy that it seemed like the very purpose of his existence seemed to have been satiated.
As the hours ticked away, his eyes wandered aimlessly. Unfocused they danced around every corner of space that lay ahead of him. They momentarily rested upon the very thing that had put him in such a state of mind. His muse. Within his world, as the seasons drifted by, the poet within him painted the skies with ballads of falling leaves, grey clouds and drops of floating rain.
The hours ticked away, but he sunk deeper into pensive waters. There was a lot he wished to tell and lot more he wished to ask. His muse lifted him high over the azure skies, dove low through silent trenches and lifted him high only to dive back again. Like many of the interesting things in the world, his muse made his life complicated yet simple. Each day a lesson in patience.
As the hours ticked away, he continued to smile. His head lacked logical reasons, but his heart didn't care to search for one. Unfettered by his muse, this ephemeral moment would remain etched deep in his memory. As for the mysteries of tomorrow, his only wish is to be pleasantly surprised by them. As for today, his wish is to understand the enigma he beheld. His muse.
