A muse by any other name...

The tiny beads of sweat glistened off her skin reflecting the neon lights that glared overhead. She moved with an awkward rhythm that made it hard to turn away from.

Her labored breathing a soft hymn to those who chose to listen. As I held the kick-bag for her, my eyes stood transfixed on her face.

She was oblivious, and she was beautiful. Her disheveled hair swinging wildly as each kick connected. A cushioned pain that he soon grew to enjoy.

His heart was heavy as I talked to her. The combination of words that came from his mouth a confusing tangle while the words that came out of hers were perfectly strung together. Her light accent playfully drawing him closer.

He drew from within him the courage to ask her out. She looked at him almost confused, unwilling. He noticed it and took the hint.

Several weeks passed that he grew to know her. A burden the place was. Had he known what anguish it would bring him and what pain the people there, some, not all would slice into his heart, he would have avoided it. However, that place was the same place that brought them together.

The cool night air was blissfully playing a melodious tune as the gentle winds passed through the trees and the branches. His phone sat idly on the table while he stared blankly at it. 'Sara Trett' was glowing on its screen with her numbers displayed across it.

He absentmindedly typed in a sentence. *Delete* *Delete* *Delete*. He typed again. The same outcome. 'Last try,' he told himself. The words were jagged, not his own. But they were sent. Music, songs were coming from a source he didn't know, yet the deafening sounds of his beating heart was the only music he heard.

"Really? that's it..," she replied. "Obviously you can do better than that." Throughout the night his fingers typed away furiously. He didn't even remember what time he slept. All he knew was that he awoke to my lips in a  peculiar contraction. Almost as if, almost as if he awoke smiling.

He walked the empty halls leading to the place. His heart was beating fast. This could be because he had rushed to the place after a workout, but he knew better. He stepped over the slightly elevated steps into the dark, cold bar and made his way to the couch.

Her legs on top of the other with a smile on her face. She looked calm and contented. The place did that to her he knew. It did that to him to. So at ease in there. The closest place you could compare was home. And yet, nowadays, it feels so dark and foreboding.

He talked to a few friends and hugged a few others. After the usually pleasantries shared, he finally reached her. He held out his hands and she looked him up and down almost insulted. "I don't want a handshake, I wan't a hug," she said. No better words could have been uttered from those rose tinted lips of hers. He soaked himself in them.

The embrace was warm. He needed it and coming from her, it was better than the numbing sensation of alcohol or the sharp pierce that any drug did to you. Her hugs were an elixir and the fountain of youth be damned.

They sat and talked for hours on end. He joked and laughed and they whispered and smiled. He placed his hands on her calf and drew in its warmth. She looked at him and smiled. He took comfort in its warmth. He didn't know that it would be his salvation.

The roads were dark with little cars on it. The row upon row of tall lamp posts lined the almost deserted stretch of tar leading to her house. "If I kissed you, would you push me away?" "You can try and see".

Her soft rose tinted lips. The sweet taste of them. The moist sensation. The movements. They both make him and break him.

The rest is history. For what more can be said? He found comfort in her. His muse. He'll always find comfort in her. However, we're all destined for other things. Her warmth heats his blood and makes him feel alive. But his does not necessarily do the same for her. He was never hers. He knows it deep down inside. But he found comfort in his muse. And she will always be that.

Destiny and fate be damned.