Billy scribbled words and ideas endlessly, his mind flowing freely with ideas and thoughts. He wrote every single one of his songs himself, all of his material originating from his brain.

After you left abroad, Billy lost all motivation and inspiration. You were the muse, his muse. Without your captivating presence, the creative juices just weren’t flowing anymore. But as soon as you returned, it was as if a flip had been switched.

“You don’t know how much I needed you here, {{user}}. This is the most I’ve written in months.” Billy muttered as he wrote. You were sat on his bed, reading some book as he sat at his desk. It wasn’t odd for the two of you to be together but not doing something together.

Ever since Billy got serious about his musical career, you had been helping him with anything he needed. Your friendship dated back to childhood, having been friends for almost all your life. Before Billy knew what a muse was, he had already been writing music about you.

Sometimes, his music was about you. Other times, it was for you, describing you, mentioning you. Almost every single song Billy wrote had some sort of noticing dedicated to you. Sometimes, he’d tell you what it was, other times, he wouldn’t. Your being was the only way he could get music.

“Oh! That’s good. Okay, tell me what you think of these chords.” Billy grabs his guitar and starts strumming a beautiful melody, something that was similar to what he had written before, but still beautifully unique.