He will remember little things like the way you shove your phone in the back pocket of your denims, or how the wind caused disturbances the night he read Macbeth for you over the phone. Only through his songs will you learn that he cheated to win that game of chess and that when you blush, you smile that sheepish smile. You’ll feel his eyes on you, noticing and absorbing every part of you, only to bleed it all on paper later.
He will know the exact color of your eyes and the story behind the ring you always wear, for these will fascinate him. Only he can decode all your facial expressions and only he knows all your little games. He knows how you like shadow puppets and double infinity signs. You will be flattered by his knowledge of you. You will start to inspire him, become his driving force, while he becomes yours.
When you gift him a Polaroid, you’ll find a poem about it two days later. You’ll click pictures and caption it with his lyrics. When you dance to his songs while teaching him how to Salsa, he’ll write another song about it. He’ll show you how thankful he is through his words and you’ll be thankful because he considers you worthy enough to be written about.
He won’t always tell you how he feels, for his self-expression is almost non-existent in person. But greeting cards, long emails and blog posts about you will be a norm. You will stop trying to figure him out; you’ll stop offering pennies for his thoughts. All you need to know about him lies imprinted for the world to read.
Every fight you have, will inspire his work. You’ll get mad at him and throw around cuss words you don’t know the meaning of, a detail his protagonist will later possess. He will write about how you steal his chocolates, how you always borrow and misplace his books and how you make him wait every time before giving in. They will all be his words and you’ll never get a chance to justify yourself.
Your name will be hidden somewhere in the acknowledgements of his books. People will know you, without really knowing you – through his eyes. His words will become their judgment. You will feel violated, because you did not wish to acquire the kind of fame he has.
And maybe one day you’ll learn how to write. Your lyrics will become the captions and then he’ll know what it’s like to be a muse.