A Short Conversation

When I was eighteen I would sit in the park for hours and watch people pass by. I would sit and think about the world and life, and lament just sitting in the park watching people go by. I would bring a notebook, and maybe make up stories but mostly just write about myself and my life.

I remember this one time a boy I had met sat on the bench with me, and took my notebook and drew a rose in it, and I thought i was in the middle of a movie scene. He was tall and thin and cocky and British. He had this air about him that was untouchable, and even though I wanted to nothing happened. He had decided he was going to be a very religious man, talked about it all the time. I sort of felt bad, sitting in the park with this trying-to-be very religious boy while he drew me flowers in my notebook.

He said he was going to be an artist, and signed the flower “Copyright Homeless Hat Productions”, I guess he thought it was funny. And sometimes I think about him, this beautiful boy in this fleetingly beautiful moment that we had and then was gone. I couldn’t tell you where he is now, I couldn’t tell you if he became a very religious man or not, I might not like the answer if I tried to look for it. I like to think of him like that always, eighteen years old sitting in the park drawing me a flower, signing it with ambitions that never came to fruition.

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