Where Is My Muse

I was mentally exhausted. I had accumulated sleep deprivation, hunger, a great deal of work to do, and many responsibilities. For a time, I survived those days doing many things well, but I also abandoned other important ones. Out of that exhaustion came the desire to accompany myself in discovering more. I learned about loneliness and necessity, I lost motivation for long periods; however, there was always that desire to create. Without knowing where my muse was. At times, photographs of my mother, her writings, moved me more than anything else. She lives with a talent for art, I inherited it. Even now, it is hard for me to sleep at night thinking about those images. In the end, inspiration always returns, and the muse, the one I speak of so much, is asleep there on the armchair.