If she was ever one thing, she was elusive. I searched for her everywhere, going off tales of where she was seen last. I searched every shore, traversed every countryside, and scouted every skyline, but to no avail. Where is she? Collecting myself, I stand. I am in Paris now, walking through the lamp-lit streets, passing by crammed houses and conversations in cafés, but none of it matters. I am hungry, but not for food. I am tired, but do not need rest. And I thirst, but not for what water can give. I only need her.
As I am lost in thought, I find myself lost. I am standing on a bridge, leaves blowing from a tree behind me in the crisp autumn air. Looking down at the water, I see my obscured reflection in the passing river; I sigh and my mind once again wanders to her.
Taking a leaf on the ledge of the bridge, I hold it in my hands. So delicate and fragile, even more so than glass. Letting it float down, I watch it touch the water, creating ever-expanding ripples. One after another they fall, dancing on the water’s surface to glide away.
And then it hits me, a spark. Inside my soul, I feel a stirring, calling me forward. I am no longer searching, just living in the moment, taking it all in. My thoughts are interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn, and there she is in all of her glory. I am speechless.
“Hello,” she greets, her voice like an angel, “I hear you’ve been searching for me.”
She pauses, almost like she is waiting for me to say something, but nothing comes out. She giggles at my shock as if I hadn’t spent my life searching for more than a glimpse of her presence. Turning her attention back to me, she introduces herself.
“My name is Inspiration.”