He looks up and asks me “why?”
Why? I’ve stopped asking that question. I don’t know why. Just a habit I have. 4.700 crisp white sheets of muscle memory. These hands just move.
Why? Just the boredom. Riding alone without a book. Seeing new patterns in nostrils and eyebrow ridges, the slopes in the temples, the curve of an inner-earlobe, the curious and never ending varieties of dimples in a smile.
Why? Just the loneliness. We exist in the reflections of others. I exist in other’s memories. I disappear into the void when there is no one to verify my presence. So I want everyone to know me.
Why? Because more than that, I want to know everyone. There are so many countless human beings in this world. So many countless living, breathing, laughing, smiling, sharing, crying, hoping humans around me. I want to know them.
So much of life is a mystery to me. So much of life is a gift, a string of beautiful moments, each gone in a flash. And you will never find that moment again. Never. It passes right before you, so quickly. Hold your eyes open that you don’t miss it. Enjoy it when it comes. Why? Why not? Why risk losing the moment to a question?
Why? Because I had no way of knowing that today he failed his driving test for the second time. That to sign up for another would cost him over one hundred Euros. That he still had a long commute home. That it was an April day that was pouring and cold and grey and overcast. That I had brought one simple good thing into his day. A little bit of light in a day that just wasn’t going his way. And so here we are: he, a downcast human sitting across from me in a blue plastic chair on a bus in the outskirts of Berlin. I, a traveler with a strange habit. A simple white piece of paper with pencil scratches arranged to be his reflection passed from my hands to his. He looks up and asks me “Why? Why did you draw me?”…Why? I’ve stopped asking that question. I don’t know why.
Why? I’ve stopped asking that question. I don’t know why. Just a habit I have. 4.700 crisp white sheets of muscle memory. These hands just move.
Why? Just the boredom. Riding alone without a book. Seeing new patterns in nostrils and eyebrow ridges, the slopes in the temples, the curve of an inner-earlobe, the curious and never ending varieties of dimples in a smile.
Why? Just the loneliness. We exist in the reflections of others. I exist in other’s memories. I disappear into the void when there is no one to verify my presence. So I want everyone to know me.
Why? Because more than that, I want to know everyone. There are so many countless human beings in this world. So many countless living, breathing, laughing, smiling, sharing, crying, hoping humans around me. I want to know them.
So much of life is a mystery to me. So much of life is a gift, a string of beautiful moments, each gone in a flash. And you will never find that moment again. Never. It passes right before you, so quickly. Hold your eyes open that you don’t miss it. Enjoy it when it comes. Why? Why not? Why risk losing the moment to a question?
Why? Because I had no way of knowing that today he failed his driving test for the second time. That to sign up for another would cost him over one hundred Euros. That he still had a long commute home. That it was an April day that was pouring and cold and grey and overcast. That I had brought one simple good thing into his day. A little bit of light in a day that just wasn’t going his way. And so here we are: he, a downcast human sitting across from me in a blue plastic chair on a bus in the outskirts of Berlin. I, a traveler with a strange habit. A simple white piece of paper with pencil scratches arranged to be his reflection passed from my hands to his. He looks up and asks me “Why? Why did you draw me?”…Why? I’ve stopped asking that question. I don’t know why.
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