I sit here a cigarrette hanging from my lips, hunched over the keyboard head pounding. I do not see the words as they appear on the screen so lost in my thoughts I am. My mind so accustomed to fantasy that the ring of truth to my words is too difficult to accept.

I always wanted to be a writer. But not under these terms. It's like the devils possessed me. It's not my thoughts flying from my fingers but my dark angels wishes. Before my words were bland, the type of read you need to fall asleep at night. Premature endings, vague plot lines, and static characters. But that's all changed. I have my muse now. I may have given up my soul but my words are golden.

It all started with a dream. He came to me in the night. I remeber as if I was dreaming. A whisper as he appeared in my window. The smell of his skin. Eyes so intense that i hardly noticed his sleek body beneath. Instead of terror I felt safe the moment he appeared. Placing his hands over my eyes he laid me back down and I woke in the morning refreshed and inspired.

The time afterwards traveled in a blur. Me writing and yearning for sleep, time for my magical visitor. Never did I question why he entered through the window. Or how he would hold me until the dawn came. Never were words exchanged, just soft caresses and sweet kisses.

I started sleeping during the day. Felt like I was in a trance. Now here I sit, writing in the evening waiting for him to come. Wishing he would never leave. My desire for life has left me. There is no happy ending. Just him, for I am his for all eternity. My stranger in the night.

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