There I was, in a gallery not far from home looking at the art they gathered for the exhibition. Standing there and looking in a void that was in front of me, an artist came along and I told him I’d like to buy this post modernist, surrealist painting of this angst ridden, haunted looking man. And he replied; That, sir, is a mirror.
And that’s how it is. Shit, constant shit, I told him. Waking up with red, bloody, sleepless eyes filled with everything but energy for the new day. A dog pisses on your shoes and a hobo asks for your last coins and you give them to him, thinking; fuck my life, now I can’t even drink a fucking coffee to maybe get a kick in the butt and awaken from the mist that gathered in my disease ridden brain the day before.
He just stood there watching me, his eyes filled with horror or just stoned from LSD since you really can’t know with these people, but he stood, watched and listened, so I continued.
Then that dreaded moment comes and work starts, I have to listen to my imbecil boss and comfort my coworker who’s crying in the bathroom for being yelled at, do the work I really don’t enjoy and spend 8 hours there to make money that I spend faster than receive it, to barely make it through the bloody month. Seems the more I work the less money I have and more I give! Where does it end? Everyday I ask myself if this is a life worth living or is it just a waste of time. I try my best to keep it up, make the ones around me bear with their lives a bit easier, less frustrating while I'm bursting with anger, but don’t want to make them feel worse for worrying about me. Is it fair? Fuck no, but I do it. And all I get for it is a stick up my ass and an occasional thank you.
He interrupted me, said to come back to the gallery in three days, so he can show me something. I appreciated him for listening to my whining in the first place, so naturally I agreed to meet him.
I came there days later, saw the man sitting by a table, preparing us a nice cup of turkish coffee,smiling at me with blue eyes shining with life I couldn’t see when we first met. We talked, talked and talked. It was the most fun I had in months, when suddenly his face got serious, looking at me with stabbing precision and said; you are a great person! You put the care for others above you and that is so rare that I couldn’t believe it when we met. You have a deep devotion to better the world around you, I can see it in your eyes and for you I made a painting.
He revealed the painting before me and what I saw was beautiful. It was a sad post modernist, surrealist angst ridden, haunted looking man staring at a mirror and his reflection was a colorful wave of smiles, positivity, care and honesty and it opened my eyes. The man knew I understand his painting and he only said to me; this.. this is a life worth living.
He turned away and left and I was reborn with a new point of view. Now my days are filled with nothing but energy, gratitude and a backlash from the people I care about. He changed my life for the better, a new way and I still want to thank him, but I never saw him again. Nevertheless he gave me the biggest gift anyone can give to someone, hope and I am grateful for that, will nourish it until the day I die.
This is an entry for the constrained contest hosted by 
Ziga.
