Thought

She is used to the utmost devotion. She is used to being put on a pedestal. Declared a muse, she is sculpted, painted, written about in poems and in books, composed about, painted on ... She is pure. She is perfect for them. She is offered startled by their intensity and doesn't know where to put it.
But this, this indifference, this can take her or leave her of this part of her life, this is confusing. Is she not the same person as before? Has she changed so much in those few years?