“You get what you put out. You hate in others what you hate in yourself”
He looked like he was loads of fun. He was new. He was interesting.
I just wanted to sell him something but his cocky demeanor was enough for me to take his card out of his hands. For me to text him later that day.
He looked like loads of fun. He was.
He showed me more of San Francisco then I’d ever knew.
We had British Accents. We drank. We explored. We lived.
Each one of us running away from some ghost haunting us.
Our brief relationship lasted only months and in that short amount of time we clung to each other and used what we could.
He was a life line I hung on to.
I was his.
He escaped New York to go to Santa Barbra. He fell in love and for 4 years raised a child that wasn’t his.
He was in love with this child. A love that I saw that pushed him to San Francisco. So he could move on. So he wouldn’t be with that woman.
All his pictures were of this child who was three shades lighter than him, plastered all over his phone. Drawings saved. Voice messages saved.
I thought of him today and wondered if he found more people to assume a role to move on.
I never expected that man to be more than loads of fun. His cross on his back seemed self carved. I wish him the best. I wish us all the best.
You never know what a person carries when you see them until you say, “Hello.”