If I were inspiration I’d nestle myself into a bed of pebbles. One glowing dark stone among rudimentary grey rock. I’d be a scent of aromatic bloom in a city of skyscrapers. A hint of green haze upon bare branches during the dreary melt of an upcoming spring.
If I were inspiration I would be a kind smile in a sea of indifferent faces. An outgoing act of silliness. A sprig of laughter at the most inopportune time. Pure and blatant joy showered earthward for no reason other than to spread happiness to the humans below.
If I were inspiration, I would scatter myself discreetly in the places only the interested would notice. A purple flower reaching heavenward flanked by the cold stone of two soaring buildings. A bug on a streetlamp at midnight, casting obscurities upon the sidewalk below.
If I were inspiration, the world and all of its weird magic would be at my fingertips. And I wonder if sometimes it is.