A Lost Muse

:: A Lost Muse ::

I've never known anyone as earnest as A. He's a sweet soul - fiercely talented, yet gently humble. I was in awe of his art - as I am of his heart.
'They're just shapes,' he said, not self-deprecatingly, but matter-of-factly. As with the last few times we've met, I felt strangely small in his presence.
Because once upon a time I believed in my art as well. Once upon a time, I had my own fairy-dusted ideals, shinning with ethereal brilliance. Now? I am tired and small and insignificant.

***

To You,

I can never share your loss, even if the loss of my old Marlboro Man allows a tiny atom of my empathy;
I can never truly say I understand, because I don't, not really;
I can never find the right things to say, because even wordsmith fail in the face of something this inevitable;
I can never do anything except to say I'm sorry, so sorry, that right here, right now, this moment, you have to endure the heartbreak of loss and the remorse of never knowing.
I'm sorry.