7/27/11

A Letter to My Muse
By Nick Javy


Dear Meghan,

Do not apologize for being busy with your life in the States - I'm just glad to be hearing from you now. I've been wretchedly worried that something ridiculous had happened in your life. Like tornadoes, hurricanes, or jail time. Although any of these things would have been terrible for you, imagine my end of our little international tète-à-tète - I can't stand the idea of any other disasters rolling through your life that are more beautiful in their scope and magnitude than myself.

I am glad to hear from you. And I don't know the genus or species. I don’t have a name for it at all, but there is a flower here that I've pinched from a number of privately owned flower beds every morning along the walk to my bus stop. It has a deep purple center, and slender soft-white petals. I suspect that it's an exotic version of America's daisy. Mornings, I pluck the petals one at a time and think "She'll contact me. She'll contact me not. She'll contact me. She'll contact me not."

I would like to point out that picking flowers is practically a felony, and that incorporating the thought of you into the start of my days has placed me neatly along the label of "Outlaw."

And this flower - the petals seem to be lounging delicately and gracefully like the dainty arms of royalty on invisible cushions of crisp, unspoilt air - pure white on top, but underneath there is a harsh pink, subtle purple, or defiant blue depending on what kind of light you turn the thing around in.

And I've never been so entrapted by a flower. And I'm not sure the genus. And I hold one in my hands for an hour every morning, in Australia, as the sun reveals another optomistic day to the sailboats in Rose Bay. And I'm not sure the species, but I've been calling them "Meghans" because they remind me of you.

And maybe this is too much to tell you; maybe you don't want to know one bit about this at all. Perhaps I've chosen the wrong words. But whether you wanted to hear all this or not - I've said it, and you've read it, and I don't regret a single key-stroke because I'm perfectly happy, per the vindication of the label of “Outlaw.”


-Mr. J


- - -
Nick Javy is a yes, not a maybe. He writes film, television, and short fiction. Also, the occasional letter to his muse as he tries to find approval through words. He is briefly living in Australia and pretends that he is a heartbroken expatriate during the days of McCarthyism. He pretends he did not name names.