Muse.

(Must muses be female?)

My latest muse is a certain type of individual more private than I thought possible. The kind who'll never say anything more than the superficial but hand them a pen and a paper (or perhaps a laptop, given the times), and watch their world take shape across a canvas that goes beyond two dimensions. It's not so much them being unable to express verbally, but it's what and how they chose to write what they write.

By a stroke of luck, I had the fortune of perusing the bitesized thoughts and lengthy ramblings of a certain individual today. He reminds me of a relative in so many ways it's almost scary how similar their habits and tendencies are. So predictable to the point you doubt yourself because no one, and I emphasise no one, should be that predictable. Yet there's so much more. There is a logic-sized gap that I've yet to fill and I find myself thinking about it whenever I'm on the subway.