The stranger.

I’m sitting on the bus trying to hold my tears back. My eyes are still swollen from the early morning cry. I’m feeling lost and deeply sad. I then notice there is a handsome man next to me. He looks my way and I, in turn, look away searching clumsily for my earphones and start listening to music avoiding eye contact. Yet, his piercing blue eyes still look my way. Now he smiles. I ignore him. I’m too sad. 

I’m looking away because I don’t want him to see me burst into tears for one, and because I think the smell of cigarettes on my clothes bother him. (I can’t kick this one habit people find so disgusting.) Why else would he look at me?

He says something to me and I cannot ignore him, (he doesn’t look like a crazy person on a bus in San Francisco,) so I press pause and look at him. “You have a beautiful face, you know? Sorry, I have just come from a photo shoot and I can’t help noticing.” He says. I’m suddenly embarrassed and self-conscious, but I thank him, because at this moment, and at fifty, I don’t feel attractive at all. I look ahead and try not to get a conversation going.

As he leaves the bus with all his gear, he smiles back with those beautiful dignified piercing blue eyes. I thank him again with a smile because I am truly grateful for the timing. I’m not as ugly as I feel after all.

2 thoughts on “The stranger.

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