Prologue
There is something to be said for the way an artist's mind works. They're creative and very attentive sure, but what really intrigues, is the way they can manipulate the materials given to them to make something inspiring and beautiful.
Like a magic trick.
Kurt supposes some people would call it magic of the mind, or a creative spirit. But Kurt always used creationism as a form of escape, whether it be singing, acting, or making art.
After years of trying to figure out his path in life, he finally concluded that the only true goal of his was to create, to make, to build. He decided to use art as a form of communication, instead of words. He expressed his own mind better when he didn't speak.
It was very therapeutic for him. But he guessed that some people never saw it that way. Only saw him as weird, aloof, anti-social.
It wasn't that Kurt hated being around other people, he loved his friends, well the few of them he had. It was just people never really understood or appreciated his mind or soul, so he had no time for them. Why waste the time he had been given, just to please other people?
So he would rather be labeled a freak or loser, than have to deal with the pressure of keeping a happy face for others. He didn't have a happy face, hadn't had one since he was 8.
He had passive, and bored, sometimes irritation. That was about as much emotion as he gave anything in life now.
So he was a second year art student, in an apartment in the dark, at 3am, with cold coffee in a mug beside him, his art supplies all over the desk in front of him, half eaten cheesecake on the table behind him, thinking about life and the merit of being a freak.
Maybe that was the insomnia talking, the Ambien hadn't really worked tonight.
He rolled his eyes as he heard his roommate snoring behind her bedroom door, she still didn't believe him when he told her that little fact.