Lonely Eyes - Street Adventures Pt.1

You have lonely eyes. The kind that say you need love but haven't received it in so long, you could snap at any moment, becoming perilous.You came stumbling up to me smelling faintly of stale beer and Newports. Your name was Enrique. You had piercing blue eyes telling a story of their own. A story of despair and grief. anger and hatred, and reminiscent memories of a once happy past. You had some lonely eyes, Enrique. Lonely eyes.

My bus was taking too long to come and chariot me away. I just wanted to be out of that unbearable concrete jungle heat. And to be protected from the harsh realities of the city ghetto. I was tired of being whistled and honked at. Was tired of being bribed to get into strangers' cars.

But I am not unused to your kind, Enrique. Assuming you have a kind, that is. Slurring, babbling to no one other than yourself and God, and maybe even your grubby hands reaching out in attempts to touch me, someone, anyone, love. I am used to your kind because something about me attracts you to me. And I am convinced that there is more to the attraction than my young pretty face. I think it is because I listen and I feel your pains and joys with you. I think it is because of your unknown ability to feel that you have acquired throughout your hardships on the streets. Although, often times you suppress it with booze and whatever else you think might help you forget. The truth is, these things no longer help you to cope. Now they only serve as reminders to your history. None the less, your kind are the real concrete jungle prophets. The ones that can't escape the harsh realities. That wouldn't know how to if given the chance. Your kind are the ones always observing, wishing, waiting, watching. You see what others choose to close their eyes to. You feel what they repress and may never let surface. Not to say that you know how to heal yourself of your traumatic wounds inflicted and left untreated, from decades ago. But at least you let yourself feel them. You feel. From the depths of your soul, you feel.

Enrique, it was a blessing for me to have gotten on the wrong bus and then miss the right one I was supposed to catch... because of you. Something in the universe conspired to get me to stay and listen to your story. And I am glad it did. You taught me about love. You spoke of your one true love and how she would not have you. You spoke of how people do not know how to show their love with simple gestures, soft touches, and sweet embraces. You explained how people think that love only happens with intercourse, and how they are wrong. You cried to the universe with big crocodile tears of sadness and reminiscence. You told me that you would wait for your one true love, until the day that you die if need be.

Thank you Enrique. Thank you.