I now know

A warm spring evening rises on the horizon. I jump. The wind is brushing against my cheeks. My naked feet scatter clouds in their way. Air blows my hair from side to side. As I catch up on speed, my wings start spreading. I land on a high statue. My feet touch the rock. It’s cold. I quickly change my clothes. The usual coat, my slightly unbuttoned white shirt and in contrast to that, the red scarf. I flung on a pair of dark blue pants and my best brogues. I can already feel better.

I float off the statue, landing on the concrete. There are people around me walking. A stray dog wiggles his way to me. His head rubs against my hand. I smile and pat him. I fold my wings and look around. The street is quite busy. Busy streets are always overwhelming. I can hear all kinds of thoughts. Happy and sad. All at once. Not one person is silent. Their mind is their stage. They are the main actor and no one can take that spot.

As I walk on the street, I see an old woman at the side of the road. She is selling flowers. My eyes fall on the tulips that lie, almost as if forgotten, in the corner of her small shop. I stick my head through the open door and greet. A gust of wind enters with me. She doesn’t react. I reach for one of the tulips. When I grab it, it separates. I can only hold its projection. I look closer and see that she is holding a letter.

“My baby boy…my baby boy…finally his wedding. Oh, how I wish you were here.”

She looks up and reaches for her heart-shaped necklace. A crystal clear tear rolls down her aged cheek. She quickly wipes it away. I glance down at the tulip. Once again, a gust of wind exists with me. When I look back, I can see the woman’s wide smile and tears pouring down her cheeks. I smile again.

I am greeted by the same busy street. People hurrying, cars and buses racing down the street. I look to my left, then my right, then down to my tulip.

“Meaning of life? The meaning of life? Please, there is no such thing. I might as fell jump in front of a car. Why not just do it now, huh? Look, there’s even a pretty one coming towards you. Can’t even do that, coward. The only thing they would say, would be: poor little Devan, how could this have happened? One week later there would be silence and I would be forgotten….”

As I hear it, I turn to see a small man walking up the street. His baggy jeans seem to have lost any form they might have had. They are definitely worn out. He is wearing a plain, maroon T-shirt, with a little hole on the right sleeve. He is wiggling his way towards me, his eyes pinned to the 

asphalt, his hands stuck in his pockets. He is carrying a small bag, inside which I can see some crayons and a notebook. As he walks by me, I gently put my arm around his shoulders.

“The meaning of life…Tell you what, Devan, the only meaning is to pay bills and taxes. You will never be great.”

The moment I heard that I knew what I had to do. I guide him unknowingly towards the park. When he lifts his eyes from the ground, he sees where he is and stops.

“Huh? That’s it, boy. You have reached your final destination, you don’t even know what you’re doing.”

I give him a little push and he began walking. His feet sipping on the pavement. He is lost. So I decide to get lost with him. On our little walk through the park, we come across a hill. Devan sits down and sighs deeply. I sit down next to him.

What is it that people always seem to hurt? Why can’t they appreciate small things? Grass brushing against one's soles and stones massaging them. Wind messing up your hair. Rain pouring down your face. Shivering when it’s cold. Relaxing when it’s warm… Why am I so powerless.

I take a glance at Devan. He takes a deep inhale and exhales looking exhausted. I reach for his bag. I grab the notebook and pick up a projection of it. I open it. There are drawings. So many of them. And all of the same girl. Her eyes seem to always sparkle in his drawings. Her wavy hair falls over her shoulders. Not in one of the sketches does she not have a smile on her face. It makes me smile too. I turn the page again. The drawings of the girl stop. Instead, there is a tulip. A yellow tulip was drawn. I gaze at mine. It did not age one bit. Devan just stares hopelessly forward. I stare with him.

On the path I see a silhouette searching someone with her eyes. A brunette girl. She seems confused and nervous. She keeps checking her watch. She truly is beautiful. Her long hair falls down her narrow shoulders. Two sweet, green eyes inspect the surroundings. A few freckles complete her innocent look. The tulip in my hand grows heavy and even though Devan doesn’t feel better, I know he won’t run away. In a heartbeat, I am next to her. I smile as charming as I can. I feel like a twelve-year-old boy, but I still offer her the flower. She takes a few steps in my direction looking confused. I return her confused look. Can she see me?

The girl squints her eyes and then smiles. She waves and runs right through me. I turn around and see her hugging a boy. He hugs her tight. I sigh in despair. But then a thought races through my mind. I look up and then forward, facing the two. I place myself in the position of the guy….and hug her too. For a long time. Wishing to never let go. Enjoying even the deception of the hug.

When they break the hug, I feel embarrassed. Again I look up. I feel my cheeks turn red. Even though I know it is impossible. Then I remember. Devan. I glance at the hill. He is still starring hopeless ahead of him. In a split of a second, I am next to him.

“The only thing they would remember about me would be the fact that I was trying way too hard to be someone I am not. An artist. Why must artists suffer? ”

Indeed, why must artists suffer? Why must people suffer at all? I wasn’t given these answers. The only thing I could count on were my experiences throughout the centuries amongst the people.

The first time I landed here, there wasn’t much to work with. The land was dry and the oceans were full. It seemed to me that it would take way to much time for something to happen. But still, could I even do something else? Sometimes my eternal existence would overwhelm me. That is why every time I wandered on earth, I hoped it would be the last time. The last time going up, or the last time having to fall down. Every day we would come down and wait. Until someday I was left wondering who had built the hut in front of my eyes. I got closer and saw a woman sitting inside. Her long dark hair was falling down her bulky shoulders. Freckles were surrounding her green glowing eyes. She had strong, muscular arms. Her skin was ashy.

From that day on people started evolving. They started hunting, invented the wheel, paved streets, raised houses, fell for each other….grew hate, started competing, wanted more. Developed war. Started hurting, kept hurting, found the bright side, only to fall right again in the pit. A bottomless pit of hate, anger, disappointment, and shortcomings.

Why must artists suffer? Why must humanity suffer? Why must they ignore? I can’t wait for the day, I would come down and feel none of it. Or all of it in a different way.

Two children are running at the base of the hill. The boy has one of the widest smiles I had ever encountered.

I turn to Devan. His glare glued to his feet. I place my hand on his shoulder. He turns towards the children. There is a pause. He just stares ahead. When he turns around, facing me, he smiles. His right-hand reaches for the bag, pulling out the notebook and a crayon.

His pulse increases, his cheeks color. With an, until now unseen certainty he draws strokes on the blank page. I turn away. It all felt good.

His eyes are now pinned to the paper, he draws and erases, smears and contours with a wild passion. I don’t look at his drawing, I just listen to the soothing scribbling. When I try to hear his thoughts I am left surprised. Silence. He is so concentrated, the only thing on his mind is the pen and the paper.

A bird’s chirping catches my attention. The wind is blowing, it’s melody spreads all over. An ant finds it’s way onto Devan’s bag. A stray dog waddles toward us. He plants itself at my feet. His tail wiggling happily. I stroke his head and he looks up pleased. Devan doesn’t notice him. He blocks out the world.

Then he lifts his eyes, he looks victorious at his sketch. A little smirk. He quickly wipes it away. But his eyes are still glowing. I look at the notebook he is so successfully holding in front of him. A drawing of a pair of wings. He notices the dog and starts petting him.

“No collar?”

He searches for a potential owner of the dog, but there is no one in sight looking for the ball of happiness.

“Well then, it looks like you could come with me. I don’t have much, but we’re going to have a great time. ”

I stand up and take one last glance at the two. As I walk, thoughts overwhelm me. I try to block them out, but it seems impossible. I walk down the same busy street, thoughts of strangers, thoughts of my own smushing together causing mayhem. The old lady is ready to close the shop. I hurry to place the tulip back, but something keeps me from doing it. I am confused. I take a step back and observe. Observe the people, the color of the pavement, the sun going down, the rattling of the keys, the dogs barking, the cars screeching, the wind blowing. Then someone bumps into me. He apologizes. I apologize too. I recreate the scene in my head. Someone bumps into me. I smile. A defeated yet honest smile. I walk up to the florist and ask:

“Excuse me, what time is it?”

“It’s seven past seven.”

“Oh, thank you, have a good one!”

She smiles.

I walk away.

I know what no angel knows. I know what it’s like to feel.