Inspiration

What inspiration means to me

What is inspiration? To me, it's looking at a block of marble and envisioning the Pieta. It's boarding a train at King's Cross Station and creating the Hogwarts Express. It's gazing up at the sky and bringing a Starry Night to life. Inspiration, is all around us. It's in birdsong, in the rustle of leaves, in a story book and in your favourite perfume. It's in tear stains and racing heartbeats. It's in petrichor, it's in chocolate. Inspiration is life itself. It's a pesky poltergeist with bulging eyes and a crooked smile who comes to you in the middle of a night, in the middle of a dream, in the middle of lunch, or on your way home. When we need it the most, it disappears. When we have no need for it at all, it comes beckoning. So we grab it by its two ears and fling it back out into the open. That's when it arrives at someone else's side, and that's when we lose our rights to it. It's stolen, but we can't steal it back because it isn't ours anymore. We can't claim it, because we willingly let it go. It's the Angel at our side and the devil at our ear. It's waking up breathless at 2 a.m., scribbling down thoughts on your bedside table, because they're running too fast to look for a sheet of paper. It's writing on your arm in the middle of science class because the fumes from the chemicals got you thinking. It's creating a voice note in the car on your way to work, or on your way back home. It's exhilarating, it's calming, most of all, it's completion. It's a sense of comfort that gives us a feeling of being our own, if only for a short while. It can be inconvenient, it can be a saviour.
All said and done, it is still, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing we will ever experience, and the only thing that I live for. It gives me wings. It's my cup of coffee after a long day. It's the rain outside my window pouring rhythm and rhyme into my mind. It's in every breath I exhale, it's in every pulsating heartbeat.
Inspiration, is life itself.