A picturesque loner..

I watch him.. staring into the space...

An idiot he is..I think...but my smile at that thought, tells me.. he's all right!

..

One may cross those boundaries that make one's own country. One may sit alone at a cafe till the dead of the night. One may make friends with the lone waiter at that cafe. One may even just uselessly watch the smoke swirl, the world blur.. just a little..with some cool breeze on the face.. bumping a crooked nose..  and trying those careless curls.. just a lil'..  

One maybe lone.. but when is one ever alone?

For the boundaries that he has crossed, I suspect, he is still bound by the imprints that he'd left. For the cafe that he lounges at, all alone today.. I glimpse.. a number of memories surrounding him. And for every lone waiter who serves him.. I imagine.. he leaves a picturesque imagination for him.. of the slumped figure he poses. And as the smoke twirls once more.. he can't tell the difference in the effect, its taste...and he wonders why.

And all these ghosts, less present, more past, surround him. Not entirely picturesque. Not really audible.. but just like the smoke.. the effect surrounds him..

And he smiles. Just slightly. And then continues to sit, slumped, staring far ahead into nothing. Challenging nothing. Giving in nothing. For that moment.. he lives.. in that nothing..

I almost wonder in my own mind's eye.. is he even alive? Just then, a feeling brushes past me...I experience some cool breeze. And that brings me my answers. For it stirs him. The picturesque loner, at that unknown cafe.

For it brings him too.. some answers. It ain't telling.. nor him, nor anyone. Nor does it leave whispers all over the place. But all the same, carries them, from the time immemorial of a man's life, some answers he had whispered only to the wind...and today...it brings back to him, just those. Making him, just what he is.

I watch him, from the recesses of my own mind. I know nothing will be revealed. No secret of the past, nor present. But I know something will... so I shift my gaze...and watch not him, instead I start, to trace the path of the breeze... bumping over a crooked nose..trying some careless curls.. 

And I watch it, at work..

It wakes him.. softly..into the present..

It sweeps him.. and touches his very purpose..

It lulls him.. into the pleasure..

It leads him out of one reverie, into another..

He smiles, I suspect, just slightly. Orders for more food, or plays with more smoke. He lets no word out, no ink escapes his pen. He, but sits perched, savouring the present..

I watch him.. staring into the space...

An idiot he is..I think...but my smile at that thought, tells me.. he's all right!

..