I'd like you to meet my dear friend, Inspiration

Although at the time of buying my fancy new journal I had decided not to share any of the pages with anyone else, some moments only call for the words that I wrote straight from the heart. I am nervous to share those raw emotions, but I'm sure the time will come. My journal has become such a great ally, and I carry it in every purse I have with me.

Here is a picture of my lovely friend:

Sometimes I am instantly inspired and I have this weird "need" to write down the words floating around in my head.

Let me paint for you a picture of how this happens:

I step out into the corridors after a long class on Classical History in Spain. The halls are always colder than the classrooms because the entire building is made of stone. The main quarter is where all the smokers gather and hold my breath so as to not have a coughing fit in the middle of the crowd. I look to my left and peer down a long hallway lit with lanterns that I imagine were installed before there was even electricity, although I have no idea if this is true or not. To my right is a winding staircase past an open barred doorway. Nothing in particular is on my mind other than realizing that still after 2 weeks of classes, I do not know my way around the monstrosity of impossible hallways and weird staircases that is this school.
As I exit the university I am again surprised, as I am everyday, at how warm the sun feels on my face, and I feel nothing but disbelief looking at the huge entrance gates from the main road. Every time I leave the school I also turn back around and take note of where I just came from; 'This is my school,' I say in my head, 'How can I be this lucky?'
I turn right after the school gates and head down San Fernando toward my regular coffee shop for a quick snack and coffee on my lunch break between classes. I look around, as I do each day, always spotting something new about my beautiful home city. Then on this particular day, I feel a light tapping on my shoulder, a slight breeze in my hair. I turn my head slightly, and I know it isn't a person's touch that I just felt. Inspiration is here again to say hello, and she requests my acknowledgment.
"Hello, Inspiration," I say to my dear friend, "You sly fox, sneaking up on me like this. Where have you been all day?"
Of course I don't expect that coy doll to respond. She only turns her cheek, so her gorgeous face reflects the bright sun, and she looks up at the blue sky. We walk together for a few meters, and I turn to her again. "Did you need something specific today or just the usual pouring of my soul?"
We stop walking then and make eye contact right there in front of the fountain at Puerta de Jerez.
"Oh," is all I can say in response, knowing what she meant by the slight smirk on her mouth.
Then, in a very sudden and exciting swift motion of her hand, she grabs mine and pulls me toward the coffee shop. I quicken my pace to run alongside her, not letting go of her hand- I like the comfort she gives me with her touch. Our hair is swept back from the gust of our run, my heart rate quickens, and my breath is short. I am exhilarated.
We reach the small outside tables and choose one under an orange tree that outlooks the Plaza. She is very polite and pulls my chair out for me, what a kind friend Inspiration is. Then without further need for communication, I reach into my bag and grab my now slightly worn- in journal and feel instantly warm and at ease. Inspiration snatches the journal from my hands, tears it open, pulls the pen out of the binding, and shoves it back into my hands. Sometimes she gets too excited to contain herself, but I share this characteristic as well, so I understand how she feels. I stare at her, that crazy friend of mine, even though she does this every time. Then she sits back in her chair, crosses one leg over the other, lets her arms rest across her body, and tilts her head back toward the warm sun, looking completely pleased with herself.
I continue to stare and when I don't begin to write straight away, she gives me only one more of her stern, but encouraging looks and my pen starts to glide across the page. I don't move it on my own, the pen and my hand have become one and are their own person now. I only am a spectator at this show, admiring the sloppiness of the penmanship and the stream of words that fall onto the page.
I love when Inspiration surprises me like this. I am calm but I am raw and open completely with her and my journal. They are my two best friends, and I miss them when they leave for the day.
Once the words start to slow and more effort is needed to hold the pen with the hand that is suddenly mine again, I look up and Inspiration is no longer sitting across from me. I desperately look around- Why did she leave like that? Why didn't she tell me where she was going? Then through the crowd, I see her blonde head as she walks down toward the river. She is light on her feet and has an air about her that makes everyone want to run up and meet her.  I know she'll be back- maybe tomorrow, or maybe not. I don't feel sad as I watch her walk away, but I do feel lonely. She is a loyal friend, Inspiration, as she is yet to disappoint.