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?