After a lengthy night of playing cards and a tedious morning of collecting books for my courses, I stumbled upon another individual whose identity was blocked by sunglasses and a distance between me and him. I got distracted at one point when a moronic bastard behind decided to blast her music through her cheaply purchased headphones. I couldn't read the book I had in my hands due to her insolence and disgusting existence, which lead me to observe my surroundings to fill my frustration. I saw him with those black sunglasses, those shades that could hide anything relative to the window of the soul; I was right. At one point, he removed his sunglasses to lean against the hard window for comfort, yet all I saw was weariness and exhaustion within those eyes, troubled by heavy bags and the upper eyelid sliding down halfway, close to collapsing. I knew he was in no good shape, but I can never find the strength in me to walk up to someone like Ruben and give them a hug; everyone needs love. But I am merely a stranger, an idle bystander existing in your essential lifetimes for solely ten seconds or less. Why was this young person so sad, so tired? Was there family troubles at home? Was he fired from his job? I have no idea, and it scares me to say that I'll never know.
I named him Ruben, because he reminds me of someone from my past.
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