A disheveled man in his 70s was sitting at the bus station today. He crouched over with both palms over his knee but no one seemed to notice. He was people watching silently. He gazed in admiration at these people, that they were what he imagined himself 50 years ago. This sequential memory came back - A combination of happiness, love, being loved, sadness and regret.
Only 20, it hit me. I had more uncounted years, and this was how much life offered me. The man was the bud. He was how we bloomed and grew. There was no knowing how he did and nobody ever knew. The man is now alone, no one stopped to look at his endearing eyes - the bud was where his pupils were. Young, yet dilated.
Here we are. At 21 we leave things undone, we smoke cigarettes and we hide our flaws so they can’t be weighed. We drink more beer than water, we forget how close our family was and we squirm around older history. One day, we forget that we will be the older history.