An Ordinary Man

There was something about the way his hair fell into his glass-stained eyes, the sheerness of them, the sage honesty. Hair that didn’t look anything but ordinary, but simply because it was him, it looked special. A mousey oak brown, straight at the top and wavy at the bottom almost like a cartoon. I was curious to the way his pupils dilated ever so quickly when we gently glanced at one another. His eyes were too light, in a feeling, in a seeing of everything that composed in between sapphire and emerald. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the emotion that swelled in him, he looked like a sensitive man. A crying man. All knowing to the taste of him, I think I could make out the Earl Grey tea that lingered from the time he woke up. 7am because he just looked like he had a routine, with his black slacks and sweater vest. I don’t think I could feel his touch, he was too gentle for that. Too reserved. Too pure? Every few seconds he looked at me with those sweet small glasses tipping to his nose, and a light cotton pink surrounding his angular cheeks. I didn’t need to know him to know him, I already lived his life, spoke in tunes he would know, yielded his memory. Not one second did he forget me as I left the train. He passed me a small smile, a hesitant wave, thinking he’d never see me again. But he didn’t know forever like I did; how quick it came when our eyes emulsified. Set in stone as the train drifted by.