In a land where raccoons start drum circles and sleep is non-existent, I met a man. I knew him but for a moment in time, but he will remain with me forever. In his eyes, I saw a mystery I had to solve, but I also found a piece of me I never knew. His name is unimportant, but we shall call him KandleSmoke, for he is with you when he's not, and he's not when he is. He changed my life forever.
I have nothing to remember him by but a few scribbles on walls and tables and memories. I don't know if I can do him justice in painting a portrait of words, but I'll give it my best.
KandleSmoke was a nomad. A man with no home, but a home everywhere he went. With him, he carried a bag of things, everything he owned. Among it's contents was a book. This book had no name, and it never will. In this book he scibbled his thoughts in words and pictures. Very few people have seen this book, but somehow, I made the cut. This nameless book of words and pictures painted a story of a beautiful tragedy, though it was not a story. It seemed but a bunch of randomness at the time, but as I look back, it was the most beautiful piece of tragic poetry I've ever seen, for it told his life story. Every thought, good or bad, found it's way into this book. What I found most interesting, is that one page stayed spotless. Absolutely clean and white. Pure.
To the outer world, he appeared merely a vagabond, a worthless vagrant, dirty and broken. To me, he appeared an angel, a saving grace in a tattered shell. He showed me how to look beneath the surface to find the treasure of people. He taught me that no matter what happens to us in this world, it's up to us to find joy. He showed me that I am beautiful, and I make the world a better place. I will never regret the time I spent with him, only the time I didn't.
I know not where he is, whether he is even still alive in an earthly form, but I shall always have a love for KandleSmoke. Memories can be powerful things if you let them live, and in this, he will live on forever.
