Short Story: Lives For The Eyes

Each person carried their own story. Each their own memories, thoughts, childhoods.
Even the youngest of them held their own individuality, no matter how small and unpronounced.

They were interesting to say the least.
And maybe it was a bit nosy of me, but people are just too fascinating to ignore.

I watched a boy go from a stroller to a skateboard. I watched a couple argue everyday as they left the apartment beside me, until one day they stopped coming. I watched the shops open and close, the streetlights turn on and off. The time that never stopped moving, even if I didn’t see every second of it.

I always sat on this bench on the side of the street, watching people walk past.
I had my time in their positions and now all I have left is the retirement that’s left me feel empty.

I don’t have a wife, I don’t have kids, I don’t have friends.
I’m just a lonely old man watching the streets move.

A lot of people think I’m homeless due to my scruffy look.
But the cost of my cane usually deterred people from offering money or food.

I don’t live handsomely, just comfortably.
All those years of hard labor meant nothing in the long run.

So I spent my last years on this bench.
Watching the lives unfold in front of me.

I knew the locals, I knew all the faces.
I could point out a tourist no matter how well they blended into the crowd.

I had no malicious intent, I only wanted to see the lives I could have had if things didn’t turn out this way.
If I had found someone, maybe I could have started a family.
Maybe I could have retired in someone’s arms, not on a cold, hard bench.

But I lived for one thing when I was a young man.
Work.

And it ruined me.
I didn’t spend my life happily, and I’ll never have the chance now.
It’s too late for someone like me, someone who still yearns for love even with only a few years left.

I feel pathetic sometimes. My sadness spewing from the past I made, the life I chose.
And yet I still sit here, waiting for something I don’t even know.
And as the clouds rolled past, occasionally blocking the sun from shining down on me, it found a way to emerge just as a figure stood in front of me.

The light from behind them hid their face as they spoke.
“May I take a seat?”
Her voice was raspy yet sweet, like a tarty blueberry you can’t spit out.

I moved over on the bench. Even years of having it to myself, I was always ready to share.

When she sat down beside me, I finally saw her face.
The wrinkles matched my own, her eyes glistened in the sunlight, her hair was luscious and white.
She held my gaze with a smile I couldn’t help but return.

She looked exactly like what I was waiting for, the feeling of emptiness slowly leaving me.
But she was just a passersby, a tourist I had never seen here before.
She wasn’t interested in someone like me.
She was probably married, probably had kids.
But... she didn’t have a ring on her finger?

She couldn’t be here for me, could she?
The doubts wouldn’t stop spinning in my head, until the words I had been waiting years for finally reached my ears.
“Why are you sitting here all alone, handsome?”