Muse in Scribblings

I love to have a muse, not just any muse, but an unobtainable goddess. A goddess by my creation for I’m sure for others she is just another beautiful, warm hearted girl. A tortured existentence though, pleases me. Paradoxically the more tortured and torn I am, the more content in my creativeness I feel.
I live out this other perfect, for they are always perfect, life in my head. The days are always sunny, my legs long and tan even in the depths of winter where we are curled up by an open fire, sipping freshly brewed black coffee. Where even the visitors have sparkly eyes and kind words. Where the air smells always of cut grass and fresh bread, where the wine is red, dark and heady. The sheets crisp, clean and white unblemished by monotonous, daily life.
It is not that I want this life, rather I want the power to create it. So for now you shall be my muse, the days and evenings providing snippets of reality which will evolve into this fantasy life.