Page 10 of A Virgo's Muse
I stared at the ceiling, lips pressed tight. My house was dim and quiet. I’d turned on one low lamp and played an old-school Erykah Badu record earlier while I cleaned, but now it was just the sound of our breathing and the faint creak of the couch every time we shifted.
“I don’t even know him, Sade,” I fussed. “He disappears for days… weeks. He talks like he’s known me in another life, but he gives me nothing about his. What if he’s dangerous? What if I’m a fool for even letting him near me?”
Sade raised a brow. “What if he’s exactly what you prayed for, but it didn’t come in the package you expected?”
My lips parted. The words caught me because I had prayed, not out loud, not in the knees-to-the-floor, Bible-on-my-chest kind of way. I prayed in the still moments when the house was too quiet. I’d brush paint across a canvas and whisper in my head,God, send me someone who gets it… who gets me.
And then Onyx happened. He was like lightning—quiet, intense, and undeniable. He hadn’t tried to take over my life. He hadn’t forced anything. He just appeared, saw what I didn’t want to show, and left me reeling.
“I’ve spent my whole life carrying things,” I whispered. “My parents. My work. My emotions. My expectations. No one ever told me it was okay to set any of it down. And now… someone wants to help me carry it, and I don’t even know how to let him.”
Sade put her wine down and turned to face me fully.
“You don’t have to know how, Des,” she said softly. “You just have to want to. That’s it. Because this man? He’s showing up in ways that matter. That sculpture? That wasn’t just art thatwas him studying you, seeing your value when the world tries to make you forget it.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Her words were a mirror I didn’t know I needed.
“Des,” she said, brushing her hand over mine. “You’re the kind of woman people come to for healing. You hold space for everybody. But who holds space for you? When you cry? When you unravel? You deserve someone who doesn’t get scared by your softness or your strength. You deserve someone who applies pressure because he wants to see you blossom.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. The smell of lavender from the diffuser, the faint citrus from the wine, the leftover heat from the meal we shared earlier… it all engulfed my senses and warmed me in ways words couldn’t describe.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
Sade nodded. “Good. Fear means it matters.”
We sat in silence for a while. She didn’t push me. That was the thing I loved most about Sade. She let me be without demanding that I be fixed. She understood me. She knew that as a Virgo, I didn’t give my trust easily. That I kept tabs on every behavior, tone, and even words unspoken. That I’d analyze something a hundred times before even letting it live in my chest. But she also knew that when I loved, I loved hard.
“I don’t want to be the one always figuring it out,” I said after a moment. “I want someone who just… shows up for me.”
Sade smiled gently. “Then let him.”
I turned my head toward her. “What if he breaks me?”
She gave me that sister-girl shrug, cool but wise. “Then we put you back together. But, baby… what if he doesn’t? What if he’s the one who teaches you how to live without holding your breath?”
I blinked, and the tears that had been threatening finally spilled. I didn’t even wipe them right away. I just let them fall and let myself feel for once without filtering or perfecting.
Sade reached over and pulled me into a hug. “Des,” she whispered into my curls, “you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Take the damn cape off, sis. Let somebody love you soft for a change.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever… I wanted to.
After Sade left, I sat alone in the quiet for a long time. It was the kind of quiet that made the walls echo with thoughts you tried to silence all day. Her words played back in my head on a loop.
“You deserve a man who applies pressure, not one who leaves you questioning everything.”
And she was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it, even if my overthinking brain wanted to run scenarios and “what ifs” until I didn’t trust myself anymore.
That night, I didn’t paint. I didn’t think about color schemes or brushstrokes. I sat on my couch, knees tucked under me, watching shadows from the streetlamps stretch across my living room wall. I was tired of always having to be the strong one, the one who carried it all without complaint. For once, I wanted to just… feel.
The next morning, I gave myself permission to pause. No alarms. No open signs. No art classes. I flipped the door sign atMy Desiresto Closed for Mental Health and turned off my phone. Then I packed a small bag, brewed a cup of tea I wouldn’tfinish, and headed to Willow Grove. That place always made my stomach flip.
The nursing home smelled like lemon disinfectant and something sweet that clung to the air. Maybe it was hope, maybe heartbreak. The halls were too quiet. The walls were too beige. But Room 109… that was home in its own way.
I stopped just outside the door and gathered myself before gently knocking. My dad’s voice greeted me before I stepped inside.
“There’s my baby girl,” he said, folding the corner of a newspaper with a tired smile.
He looked good today, worn but well. He was dressed in a neatly pressed button-down with his hair combed back like he was expecting someone important.
