Apparently I exist to please.

I am partially at fault for this.

Professional proclivity, occupational hazard;

I am available for all to pour their experiences, their histories -

And what does this cost?

Can the non-artistic guess? Do much of the artistic even know?

I am not one life but all life, that is the practicing artist, everyday, not just when convenient.

My struggle is to not allow my life to interfere with everyone else's -

I know my story, but what of theirs? This is the purpose, my life is not my purpose.

I work to please therefore it is assumed I exist to please;

I work to please myself just long enough to be receptive to exist and please others -

This blend of necessary selfishness and self-destructive selflessness.

I am here for you but not as you will ever be for me.

If this is love then it is a one-sided love which you could never repay.

I do not expect you to repay for this is price which gives me pleasure to pay.

This is my existence, this is my depression,

For this is nobody's fault but mine.

There is another part where I am not at fault.

Perhaps you can aid my understanding;

Three decades have passed and the reason eludes me.

Is it these wide eyes? Eyes which meet yours, eyes which embolden to ascertain meaning?

Is it these ears which note every lilt of voice, every hesitation, every slur, implication, desire, and prejudice?

Is it my refusal to judge as others judge? Do you call this love?

Is it because I, instead of emphasizing occasional ignorance, attempt to explore the conception of the ignorant mind?

Is it because I smile at many things; irony, futility, absurdity, contradiction, and sometimes, happiness? Does a smile broadcast love?

Do any of these things express love? Is this what love is? Or do I love all, in my own way?

Do I empathise too greatly? Do I reflect too little?

Do I exchange this world for the kaleidoscope of perception?

Does this world even concern me?

Do I always give the wrong impression?

Am I reluctant to give the proper expression?

Do I wish to thoroughly experience a moment because the past has taught me that moments are fleeting?

Perhaps you can aid my understanding.

Perhaps there is nothing to understand.

Perhaps you're right.