Something is stirring inside of me.  I am emotional and open.  My thoughts vacillate between the old me (romanticizing the pain of rejection and glorifying the shadow self) and the me attempting to emerge (confident, at peace, in full surrender).  My stomach jumps at thoughts of him.  Fantasies play out in my mind of what I wish for us.  It's easy to do because I have no evidence to the contrary.

He is a desirable stranger.  I can fantasize and pretend he could be my everything for the simple reason that he is nothing to me.  I can pin traits on him and actions and hopes and dreams.  Because, in reality, "we" don't exist.  With no defined relationship, my heart is free to create him to be anything I choose.

It excites me to have a dream.  It energizes me to hope.  It inspires me, the not-knowing.  Perhaps the unsettled feeling in my stomach would disappear if I knew the truth.  But I accept it for what it is now: Anticipation. Inspiration. Fantasy. Desire.

He is my muse.