Where did that Muse go?

The tired writer entered the coffee shop. Her feet were heavy on the waxed floor. She approached the counter and ordered the biggest, most caffeine-packed drink on the menu. Then she asked for more caffeine.

As she paid for her toxic beverage, her eyes wandered to a far corner of the shop.

There sat the Muse.

The writer smiled. She hadn't seen her friend Muse in a long time.

"I should have figured I'd find you here," she said as she sat across from her inspiration. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Muse answered with a voice like liquid. "I've been laying low." Her words effortlessly flowed form her diaphragm as she lazily observed her long fingernails.

The writer sipped her coffee feeling energy run through her arms. She needed to write. Now.

So she pulled out her laptop and cued up the word processor. Muse moved closer to the writer. She caressed her hair and watched the screen as it filled with words.

Muse planted a loving kiss on the writer's cheek. Then she stood and quickly left.

The writer didn't even notice, for she was too busy creating her story. She hadn't been able to write like this in weeks.

Then, when she was nearing a pivotal part in her tale, she froze. She had no idea what should happen.

The writer looked up from the computer screen and finally noticed that Muse was no longer with her.

"Damn," the writer whispered to nobody in particular. She saved her work and closed the laptop. She sat back and sipped her now cold coffee. Where did Muse go? Did she go to another coffee shop? Was she sitting in the passenger seat of the writer's car? Perhaps she was in a nearby park.

The writer stood and walked to the door. And as she left the coffee shop, she wondered when and where her Muse would turn up next. After all, that is the nature of the Muse. She comes and goes as she pleases.