I have scars on my hands.
Scars which the world may deem ugly.
But to me they mean power.
They define me.
“How did you gain these scars?” you ask.
“It’s a long story for a very long day.
Not one for today.” I reply.
His curiosity doesn’t seem to be satisfied.
So, I add, “These scars mean only positive things for me.”
He seems to have accepted my response.
At least, he shows that he has.
Except his eyes speak a different language.
Is it curiosity I see in them? Or is it anxiety?
However, we are here,
At this ridiculous coffee shop for an interview.
Honestly, it’s all a business to me.
I reassure him, “my rough hands mean only good things.
Things you wouldn’t have never explored before.
Territories that have been unchartered till date.”
He says nothing; only looks.
Curiously, anxiously, nervously, eagerly.
I can’t make out.
I need to work on reading him better.
That’s going to be a necessity
If I work for him.
He has a basic list of questions.
However, his eyes seem hungry for more.
More detailed information.
I tell them, ‘Not so soon, there’s still time for all that’.
Once our contract is signed,
Hunger will be thoroughly forgotten.
I beam with pride as I think that.
He does his part swiftly.
Signs the contract and pays the bill for our coffee.
He don’t seem very happy
Besides I don’t care for his happiness.
I am finally living my dream.
I have fulfilled my lifelong passion today.
A passion that has given me another new scar today.
A scar that will let me live out my destiny.