There was once this teenage girl I met on June 15th 1964, she struck my interest as she puts all her feelings and affections in every single art she does which includes her literature. On the first sight of her art work is was already undeniable, all her art is a complete mirror of her living existence.
She doesn't talk of her life, it seems so forbidden to do so. But I guess it was okay for me because I know that everything has its consequences, even her. She looked so happy, but it was beyond the truth. When I read her art it tells it all, so maybe her eyes looks like they are full of life but are they really?
On that day I met her, I saw her do crazy things which wasn't that pleasant for someone to look at. She puts up with it with an excuse of trying to entertain herself and have fun. Her life effected her on how she deals with everything, I wondered to myself... If only they saw the inside of her she wanted to be friends with the world but the crowd gets on her nerves making her feel insecure.
This was one of the ten thousand things that made her look like a grumpy, mean, heartless and major snob. Life experience made her, the person she is now. Even though I see chaos in every move she makes, there was still a pint of the need to be loved and happiness. I remembered that she asked me this one question. " What is happiness?" All of my answers made her even more confused. Yes, that is it, she is confused.....
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