peace of mind -- open.

dearest muse-at-large,

your poetic nonsense and flowery language may work on the pitiful female souls of our great institution but i guarantee you, to my trained eye you just seem ... isolated. and as for the dubious honour of our anonymity; there is no greater poet i know than one who is doubtlessly in love with a certain ruby red lion. i respect your eloquence, i remark positively upon your grace and charm, your wit even - though your subtlety leaves much to be desired - and your daring, if it may be called such. you have caught me on a charitable morning; i have never been called 'chap' before in my life and i daresay it does intrigue me. my owl flies to you with the greatest of speeds. give me some more clues so my understanding of your identity may be further cemented, i dare you.

dearest muse-at-large,

i apologise most profusely at the tardiness of this return owl. i must say you have me rather confused. i would never dare to attempt to fathom the depths of your personality. dear anonymous - though we both know that is a lie and since you are so self-confessedly altruistic i feel i must also comply - so rather, dearest companion, the freedom of your speech is assured. i hold no bars upon your poeticisms, you may become as lost as you wish. but i might as well say that i as much as anyone recommend the virtues of a good night's sleep; after all, it is one of my most favourite pursuits. you have me thoroughly twisted in knots and you are quite the enigma, and i cannot untwist myself for the life of me. i had half a mind to withhold my reply until i had unravelled your challenge, but the time stretched to far too long and i confess, i grew weary of poring over this parchment. speak your mind, fine, but speak what you truly mean and not in these riddles. we may be snakes but not all of us can slither between meaning as expertly as others.

dearest muse-at-large,

i am of the solemn belief that all ideas need an outlet, or else they grow stagnant and die a painful, slow death. without their muses the greatest artists would have died pitifully and alone, having completed not one of their masterful works. so speak away what is on your mind before it begins to wrap itself in twists and turns and you can't find head nor tail of it. an inability to sleep due to nightmares and terrible memories speaks to me as if you have some pressing stress upon your mind. a great and final decision to make in the near future, a responsibility on your shoulders you feel you are unable to uphold, a niggling doubt of your own self as a person. or perhaps a worry of the heart, which i apologise in advance i have no experience in, as my own heart is as worry-free as a released songbird. and though i appreciate what seems - through paper at least - to be your sincere congratulations, i cannot accept the compliment. determination is not my strong suit, rather a stubborn desire to succeed, to win, to be superior. which, unfortunately, it seems i cannot because your mind has run circles around my own and left it exhausted, confused and defeated. kudos to you, daring friend, i cannot unravel your riddle. the faintest flickering shadow of understanding occasionally flits through my brain but otherwise, nothing. you've won.