The city bus is gloomy at sunset. Full of faces, I look around at them all, tan and dark, white and red. Their stories, I know, are full of pain. Their lives are empty and sad. Sometimes, I make eye contact with one of them, and we look into each other's souls and wonder, selfishly, if one of us has suffered more than the other. We ask each other why and see nothing, and so we move on, to the next face, always on an idle quest.

Many of them are my brothers. We see in each other ourselves, our mutual despairs, our love and loss. Blood and tears. So much crying. I find myself wondering about god and his lower-case g. I think about my parents. About my friends, and all I've loved. The girl that always made my eyes light up. I wonder about that man, if his girl made his eyes light up and then darken for the rest of his life. If that woman had her life stripped away by some careless man and his bastard children. If that child will grow up into melancholy and hate.

I glance at my feet.

Eventually I get off the bus, and I go home. They will all do the same at some point. That man will live with his darkened eyes, that woman will raise her sons, and that child will walk into the world blindly. Perhaps one day I'll see you on the bus, and we can look into each other's eyes and wonder about our souls. Do I look sad to you?

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