A writing from my book "Another Vagabond Lost To love" ♡ // "People keep asking what I do for a living and I keep answering that I don’t believe in making a living. That it’s a concept that has been twisted. I tell them I believe in making a life and money is a distracting object if there’s anything left at the end of the day, and I just want to go on well. Make it through the day. So I smile and raise my glass and they laugh and take my hand, saying “here’s to the youth!” pointing at me. And I might just be young and naive for I still believe in the freedom of choice of how to spend your life. So they toast to the youth, who still thinks she’s free, and that’s all fine by me.

Today was a great writing day and on great writing days nothing can bother me. The way my world feels balanced when I can create something out of nothingness. Wait, let me take it from the beginning: I woke up to a grey sky and I was gloomy and worried, like I often am, and I never sleep very well for I dream of him and them and all the rest and it’s cold at this time of year but still I wake up sweating, heart pounding, chest aching. It’s been a quiet month and my voice is untrained and weak from late nights. Cold air and strong drinks. But there are some days that every artist dreams of, when it’s all in the right place and the chords sound right and the melodies grow in the air all around. The words come fast and it doesn’t take much, a few minutes, closed eyes, silent mind – and it’s there.

So some mornings I wake up and things feel wrong but are right and it’s been a silent month for I don’t sing very much but this morning I wrote and sang and created something from nothingness and it put my very self in balance. My body into being.

Anyway, I wrote my song and took my walk and made my way to the bar to celebrate myself for feeling fine and usually people are quiet there, take my order and let me be. But today I felt fine and not strange or sad and the town was not busy so the bartender had time I think for he asked where I was from and what I did here because I spoke English and not German and so that’s that. I said I was just passing by, on my way to somewhere else and he asked to where and I said anywhere and he smiled and it was nice. Nice because I was honest, which I rarely am, and he was nice, which people rarely are, and after a few drinks he brought another one “on the house” and sat down and asked what I was writing. So I showed him and he smiled and we talked Bukowski and Woolf, Thoreau against Emerson and it was beautiful. The way the time passed by and chains fell down and I felt okay, which is rare these days, but I did and I still do as I sit on the floor in an empty room with friends I’ve met on my way, and they’ve told me to put stuff on the walls and decorate the hall, but I’ve said this isn’t permanent, and neither am I, and if I change fast enough I might be able to write another song soon enough because it’s all in the movement. All in the waves. All in the change.

So anyway, it was a great day and nothing in particular happened. Nothing to make the books or the papers or the headlines, but it was sincere, and I felt okay and that’s rare those days. And it’s moments like these that I know I will be okay for it will all make sense one day because I’m still on my way. I’m going somewhere and that’s the whole point.

I’m still on my way. And that’s the whole point.

(If you see the boy in the bar tell him I bought the book he talked about and learned the song he sang and that I found my way home wherever that is. Tell him he’s got a beautiful mind and a beautiful smile and that’s rare these days.)

We’re all on our ways. And that’s the whole point.