She confronted him, she stared in his eyes and she said, “Who are you, what makes you who you are, what makes you tick?” He stared in her big brown eyes, wondering if he should say what she wants to hear or should he be honest. He can make claims to her of how he is a hopeless romantic, should he tell her all the sweet things and amazing characteristics she wants to hear, or should he be honest with her? He sat and contemplated the fact of what to do and he came up with the exact words she would want to hear, then he sat there and thought on the other spectrum, he pondered on the question, “Who am I?” He sat there sat there blankly, and kept hearing those exact words echo through all parts of his mind. Now instead of trying to impress this woman he’s trying to satisfy this question for himself, he has always been that person people need him to be, he has been a utensil for people’s disposal. He finds himself rattled, he doesn’t know the answer, he stares dumbfounded now into her eyes, he’s lost, he doesn’t know what to tell her and more importantly he doesn’t know what to tell himself. The farther he looks back the more of a fool he realizes he is, how he has always been the clown, how he did anything for those around him and forgot about his own self. Destroyed and bewildered he looks directly into the eyes that used to intensify his lust for her and sulks in sorrow and utters the words, “I don’t know,” turns around and walks his path alone, now to discover himself.