Let me take you back. About four years ago. I met a sulky, sexy musician with dark eyes and strong hands. Inspiration struck my mildly sweet self when he first laid them both on me. My life was different then, it was darker from the moment I met him. But, like anyone who has been smothering the artist inside for years and years, the darkness was not a bad thing. For once, I was questioning, I was wondering, and my perception of society was dwindling. I cared not what people thought, not when his magnificent body was two inches from mine as we sat on the discordant bridge, our legs swinging above the water.

“Who is your biggest inspiration in life?”

As if I could tell him. This partial stranger. We had only known each other a week, yet I was completely infatuated with becoming all that he was.

“Hmm… I don’t know. How about Ghandi? He did some pretty inspirational things, right?”

His only response was a sigh. His dark eyes met mine and in that exact moment the sun’s rays caught, illuminating someone inside I was almost afraid to know.

Finally, I relent.

“Okay, I will tell you, but it is going to freak you out.”

“No, it won’t.”

The words fell from his lips and into my sweaty hands. It seemed true enough. More than that, it seemed safe. So I told him. I handed them over, and by some act of God, he folded them into his own perfect hands and there they were protected for quite some time.