My Muse

Somewhere between a 5 AM phone call and a promise to "never do that again," a strange chemistry is born. The one where decency loses its voice and confidence smells like perfume with hints of audacity. Here, no one owes anyone anything, but they both pretend it's a sacred ritual. She's in her boss era, even in winter with a pedicure and a light haze in the mirror, and he's a hero without a script, once again falling for inspiration in human form. And it seems simple: it's not love, just a muse. As is well known, only the muse always knows where to poke to make a song - and a wallet - sing.