Chapter 6

Sometimes I think I lied to myself.
It was only four years ago, but I feel so old now. I look back at who I was in my mind and in some scraps of my writings, and I see someone else. I was way more passionate, more driven. Now I am dwindled to move on because of survival issues. Not because of love, which it once was for. It was just because I had someone who had once wanted me. If that was selfish or not, I don't know. Maybe all of those expectations I had once of myself diminished when that love was gone. I always thought that if

I

had love,

the romantic kind, that I would be invincible in my actions. Not because I was worthy or deserving, but because I had someone at the end of the day who believed I was. Or did, maybe, once.

But I see now, that love is something more.

I still have no full idea of what that may be, but now I have certain factors that are helping me define it.

Like:

Love is Blind.

Love shouldn't be selfish.

You shouldn't have to make excuses.

and

You shouldn't have to lie to yourself to make those excuses.

These enlightenment are the only things I can ever thank Daniel for.

-

"So, what did you do today?"

"Hung out with a Bum."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She wouldn't of believed me. I think every time we came in contact with someone begging on the streets together, I was the first to walk past them acting as if they didn't exist. But John was different. He wasn't begging, he was trying to be hidden. He didn't want to be found. Or did he? Maybe I was subconsciously drawn to him because I wanted to be found myself, like he did probably, only he was too polite to ask anyone for anything.

I later found out John had written several books, of all he said were complete crap. That was usually what I said about my art, so I liked him. Or I was mesmerized by him. Here I was, a nobody to myself, sitting with someone who was somebody, well, once. He gave advise on life and the world in one setting, almost as if he was an observer on some godly cloud hovering above. Which is probably what he had become. Just an observer, or maybe even a god, who knows. He probably saw life in a whole new light just by watching people all day go to their jobs, and get to their daily lives. Something he had had once.

I envied him. I could never see people the way he did, the way I knew he saw life. I was too occupied with myself, and how I wanted to be someone else.

"Sometimes you have to face the music, or say fuck it."

John had said.

At the same time, I felt an immense sadness for him as well. He had no home, no where to go. He was a drifter, as well as an observer. All of which was really fascinating. He left me with so many questions, both philosophical and just out of curiosity. I blame that on Art School as well. It always had me thinking conceptually, something I knew would never go away.

Questions like:

How does one leave his own life?

Is he forced?

How does one give up on himself completely?

I was in awe.