“I see…” he said thoughtfully and walked slowly towards the window.

For a long time, he stood there against the setting sun of late afternoon.

The messenger could see the furnishings of the room more clearly now: the square oak table, the chairs, the musical instruments. Fresh flowers had been brought in from a nearby meadow by the maid and placed in a jar.

The messenger set his briefcase on the table and waited.

“And so I have to embark on another journey, this ageless traveler?” he asked. “But what is the budget?”

“Zero,” said the messenger, chuckling.

“Zero… like that one day when I counted pennies, trying to figure out if I could afford an apple today or would have to wait until next week and starve in between.”

“So why am I doing this again?” he asked.

“For the love of art,” the messenger said.

For the love of art, he thought. Right…

“It’s the greatest love of all,” said the messenger.

But he knew he had to create.

Otherwise, he knew he’d go mad.

“And it’s happening to me,” he said.

Then he started walking.

*

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