a palette for conversation
We stood on the roof and he grated the knuckles of his right hand against the rocky brown wall. His hands, almost twice as large as mine, leaked red from razor thin lines surrounded in feathery ripped skin. Its 8pm and the sun is dropping towards the San Francisco city skyline. The sunlight sits perfectly on his face as though its purpose is to divide it symmetrically in half. We stand here, surrounded by pot plants. He tells me he feels empty inside, that there isn't enough of him to fill his 6'5" body. He wants to be more than a cock and pair of balls, he is wants to be more than a grunt worker, but all he can do is hedonistically indulge in the drugs and sex that would never fill his bottomless vacancy. He wonders what the purpose is of his existence, what the point is of even living...
"I'm out the summer windows and into the winter doors"
"But you have a son. You are an artist. You have so much soul, you have so much...its just that life gives you limitations."
"I feel empty. I feel trapped. You're a beautiful person. I want to say that without making you feel uncomfortable. You give off such a warm golden vibe, your features are delicate...you're a young vibrant girl. I appreciate you talking with me, and wasting time with me. Standing on the roof and talking is more than I could ask for. Compared to you, I'm a human beast among human sheep. I want to connect. I want to taste feelings and emotions."
His words flowed over me like poetry and I stood there silently. He has potential, but personal history and current restraints leave him shackled to the ground he yearns to leave. Physiognamy has never been so accurate before in my life--his eyes change colors of green and brown and beg in whispers for fulfillment, yet his countenance screeches and howls for surrender and abnegation.
I ask if I can take a picture of him. He says okay. I get his face, the sunlight, and the cerulean blue sky behind his head.
After talking a long time more, he takes a knee before me and hugs me gently. He kisses the soft part of my shoulder, between my right breast and armpit. He has verbally said it enough already, but he sighs a long heavy 'thank you' into my neck. I hold his bloodied knuckles in my hand, look at him in his Van Gogh green eyes, and say goodbye until we meet again.
"I'm out the summer windows and into the winter doors"
"But you have a son. You are an artist. You have so much soul, you have so much...its just that life gives you limitations."
"I feel empty. I feel trapped. You're a beautiful person. I want to say that without making you feel uncomfortable. You give off such a warm golden vibe, your features are delicate...you're a young vibrant girl. I appreciate you talking with me, and wasting time with me. Standing on the roof and talking is more than I could ask for. Compared to you, I'm a human beast among human sheep. I want to connect. I want to taste feelings and emotions."
His words flowed over me like poetry and I stood there silently. He has potential, but personal history and current restraints leave him shackled to the ground he yearns to leave. Physiognamy has never been so accurate before in my life--his eyes change colors of green and brown and beg in whispers for fulfillment, yet his countenance screeches and howls for surrender and abnegation.
I ask if I can take a picture of him. He says okay. I get his face, the sunlight, and the cerulean blue sky behind his head.
After talking a long time more, he takes a knee before me and hugs me gently. He kisses the soft part of my shoulder, between my right breast and armpit. He has verbally said it enough already, but he sighs a long heavy 'thank you' into my neck. I hold his bloodied knuckles in my hand, look at him in his Van Gogh green eyes, and say goodbye until we meet again.