She's here, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere.
I don't know her name, she has all. I don't know what she looks like, and I don't mind about the size of their nose or the colour of their eyes. I just know she's there, her head on my shoulders when I'm crying about my destiny, or so far that I'll never meet her in this life, but she's always there inside my heart or outside, opening my roads, and always giving me all my words, my faith... and my pens.
My muse brings me in the most shinning skies and opens my heaven's doors. I can hear her voice in my head, when she's talking me about wonderful love stories I should write...
How wonderful life is when she makes me so alive... I love her. As much as Christian, the Moulin Rouge's poet.