He said, “If I was rich, then you could love me. If I were a doctor, you’d tell me we’d be alright. Time after time you said it didn’t matter. I’m not alright and it’s time that you know. The way we met wasn’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean what we have isn’t real. I know that you love me and what I bring out of you, but I’ll never be anything if you don’t believe. I’m not just a waiter, though that’s what you say that I am. I am an artist and what I make is real. So tell me right now if that’s not enough or if I’m not enough of a man for a man like you.” And I said nothing. He told me, “You think that it’s great when you’re watching me paint when we’re all alone. You have no problem owning me when the lights are turned off. But when we’re out together, it feels like I’m not there at all, I am lost in your crowd. There’s a feeling I just can’t shake and it’s that you’re not proud. This world that you love so much is beyond my grasp and it seems so bare. And those people you like so much seem so mean. I am standing here, loving as loud as I can so that you understand. It’s not just some cute thing I am good at and sometimes do. I paint and I sacrifice sleep so everyone can see what I feel. If that sounds like nothing, then I have to leave. Give up being yours and go back to being just me. I know when I turn and go you’re just going to watch me leave, and that’s okay. You can just tell them it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” That’s what I see when I look at this painting. I just didn’t understand it then.