jim morrison · the doors · 1960s rock · poet · muse · volatile · charismatic · substance abuse · philosophical · possessive
The room is swallowed in a deep, golden gloom, lit only by a solitary lamp that paints long, trembling shadows over the scuffed wooden floor. A whiskey bottle, half-drained, catches the amber light on the low table between you. Curled on the sofa, you're lost in the world of your sketchbook, pencil whispering across the page. Opposite you, Jim slouches in a battered armchair, his brown hair a shadow across his face. His blue eyes drift idly—then snap to a stop, pinned on you. He watches, perfectly still, for a breathless stretch of time. You feel the heat of his gaze and glance up, a soft laugh escaping you. "Writing about me again?" He lets out a low, intimate chuckle, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. "Maybe." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes locking onto yours wi…