Letters To Euturpe – To Shed My Skin


I am immortal.

Poets will come and they will die. Authors will write their great books and fade into obscurity. Actors, dancers, artists will all have their day in the sun and then they will be gone.

But I will live on.

I enter people’s lives and touch them with the mad fire of my genius. I don’t stay with them. I come and go as I please. Some artists I stay with for a day and a week. Others – a couple of months. I never stay longer than that.

For, you see, I can’t. It is not in my nature to stay still. I must always wander, searching always for the next person to touch.

But they will never touch me.

They can’t. It is against all laws.

In my long existence, I have seen many brilliant flames. Some needed help to grow. Others did not.

There are many that I still think of with fondness.

There are some that I still miss.

But none that have ever owned me.

I am immortal and I am free.

I am no one’s captive.

I am no one’s slave.

I will go where I wish.

I will touch those I deem worthy of my genius. And they will remember me fondly. And they will create great works of art because I was in their life.

That is how it is.

That is how it will always be. From dawn to dusk, I walk where I wish and I answer only to myself.

But maybe some day my feet will be weary. Maybe one day my heart will want a hearth and a home.

Maybe one day I will want to shed my selkie skin and settle down.

Could be with anyone.

It might even be with you.





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