Silence. The only thing resonating was the noise of a pen scratching over paper. The room was barely lit by the little oil lamp projecting its weak light onto the 2 young people.

-" Are you finished soon?" she sighted impatiently

-"Not quite yet, love." he replied without lifting his eyes from his drawing.

-"Stan?" he didn't reply

"Stan you should really hurry up, I have other things to do"

-" Oh Jesus, what has happened to you, you used to love me drawing you"

-" I know I did." she sighted "because I thought it was me that you loved" her eyes started swelling with tears.

-" I do, sweetheart, what's wrong?" he finally looked up from his artwork to face her, worried.

-" I thought you liked to draw me because you loved me." she repeated.

-" Are you alright? Should I call for a doctor?" he approached her.

-"NO. GET OFF ME" she cried as she pushed him away, furiously standing up and running to the room next door. He followed her.

-" Kate you need to calm down what has gone into your mi-" his voice was cut off by the sound of a crack

" No don't open that it's private! KATE STOP" before he could stop her she had broken off the broken tile under their bed.

The box that she held in her hand was open, in it, dozens of drawings. But not of her. Drawings of other women, the dates scribbled on them were all recent.

Silenced hovered over them.

-" I thought-i thought I was your muse. You always said I was..." tears streamed down her face.

-" Kate- you are... I can explain I-" he lacked the words.

-" I thought I was the only one. How many women have you called your muse, your lovers... Is that why you don't wanna get married?"

-" Kate no of course not."

-" Dozens of girls you've said the same sweet words to, the same long speeches about everlasting love. I was never anything special was I?"

He had none more to say.

Because maybe not every artist loves his muse, he just loves the image of her that he can set on paper.