IS IT SAFE TO LOOK AT THE MOON?

The Boy at My Corner

I saw him and I wanted to cry. He was just a young boy, not over 18 years old, sitting at a corner of the road I travel so often, not actually begging; just sitting there, all alone, his eyes were unseeing; his face was a conglomeration of fear, worry, discomfort; his arms were draped over his knees, as if to say, this is me, this my body, I have preserved it; his hair, which looked like it was dark black before, and was now clipped close to his skull; he was alone.

Like me.

I sat in my car and watched him, tears streamed down my face, a memory of something gone from me bubbled through my mind. What was it? I rooted out the hard, darkness that hid a part of me that was too painful to recall; and still I could not fathom what it was that made me cry, to see a young boy by the side of the road.

When I looked at him again, he was gone! I fired the engine, in such a hurry, I banged my head against the window. I must find him. Where did he go? I drove on to the road and looked at my left, at my right, but he was nowhere. I wondered if I shall see him again?