The beautiful man on my street

I would see him sometimes passing by, on the street where I live.  He was always  silent, pensive, his head was facing the ground, or he was captivated by the view. His almond eyes were barren.

Sometimes I would slow down a little,  just to have more time to look at his face and decipher on his history. He had an angelic, slightly feminine beauty. His dark hair long to his shoulders, that framed this angel face, contrasts with the porcelain skin.

I couldn’t understand why, I had seen sad people before, but I found his irresistible. I was tormented by a fierce curiosity, an insatiable desire to go and shake him, tell him… I did not know what was it that I would  tell him, nothing ever came to mind, but I would have shaken him, without saying a word, just to make the emptiness in his eyes go away.

One day, I plucked up the courage and said hi to him. He answered back, surprised.

”You have one of the most captivating face I have ever seen…”
”Do I?!”  He had a confused look on his face. He  would stare at me, looking for an explanation.
”I want to know why are you so sad.”

teaThis is how we got to share a Sunday morning, drinking tea at a local tea house.  He told me he lost everything, the girl he loved, his job, a decent connection with his parents. He wanted to leave and leave everything behind. He had nothing here. He was alone.

I realized then and there,  why his image haunted me so much, why I wanted to much to speak to him. He reminded me of me. I was alone too.

We were two lonely people.

”You’re so young”, I told him, ”so many things could happen! You never know what tomorrow will bring! All I can tell you it is that it will  bring you more of what you look at.”

He asked me how old I was. I answered him.

”I always appreciate the way a mature woman thinks.”

I wanted to laugh. He spoke as if I had not been less than a decade older than him.

”You too will have my age. Then you will think you are more mature in your thinking compared to when you were younger. But then you will realize it is not a big difference, that a part of you is still the same, that a part of you will always be eighteen-twenty.”

It crossed my mind that I could sleep with him – I was attracted to a part of him, and he wanted me, I realized that from the very start. We would have been two people that would have been less lonely for a few hours.   But we would have done that for the wrong reasons.

He would have searched within me a safe harbor in my strength, to compensate for his weak nature, and I would have found a fragment of a younger self, to nurture and teach. A fragment of me to whom I could have given everything I had needed years ago, when no one was there to offer anything. Things I needed so badly.

No, I was not going to be that. Not for him, not for anyone.


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