The Path

I see this guy here, every time I visit this place. He's disheveled and beaten; his eyes glazed over. He looks as if it's all over and he now, just now, has figured this all out. I help him to his knees, then to his feet. He stands exactly my height and though his frame is the same as mine, he's thinner and leaner, yet somehow more frail than I.

We never speak, never a word is uttered. Yet, I get it, Feel like I have been here before. The weight of the world has come down on this poor fellow, but, it's not the trappings of life that always seem to escape him that seems to be the issue. This poor guy suffers from a broken heart. In reality it is my own past broken hearts that bring me to this place, somehow the hopelessness of this wretched place and the quiet humility of this young man gives me the strength to not give up. I leave this hollow, dirty path and thank God for the fight within me to persevere.

As the guy raises to his feet, straightens his back, I seem to recognize the particular brown of his eye. Within those eyes a story unto itself is told. This being has seen much, he's been loved so deeply that the depths of his despair now seem endless. As he stare back blankly into my eyes, the eyes of a man that has felt this type of agony and lived to tell of its defeat.

Standing now upright, and with my hands on both the young mans shoulders, the resemblance is uncanny. He looks at me as if to ask it will really one day could be ok. If you really do ever get over the lost of love from the one person you've ever truly loved. The look in my eye warms as I transmit through my body language and gestures that even if you don't get over unrequited love, life will certainly go on and offer as many victories as defeats. I want so bad to tell him that, one day he'll love himself enough that what "they did" won't matter nearly as much as how he responds.

As is typical, before I can utter a word to my friend, a man much older than us both, approaches. The older gentlemen never speaks, he simply lays his old weathered hands on my shoulder and smiles knowingly at me. The older gent is just slightly shorter than myself, even standing straight up he seems to have a slight bend in his slow trot. His eyes are that same peculiar brown as the young fellows and his frame is exactly the same as mine. There is something comforting about the fact that the young man, myself and the old gentlemen all find such solace in this place. As if there is yet hope for us all.

The old timer looks at me as if I know what comes next, somehow I believe I do. He nods in a motion that says let's go. As I give the young fellow a last pat on the shoulder and turn, the old guy winks at the young man as I am turned from them both. I begin to walk in my steady, confidant elongated stride. The young man stares at me, still silent but I can tell he no longer wants to kneel in shame. The old man walks in his slow, steady knowing manner. Though I am walking faster, I have no idea where I am going next. The old timer is slower, but seems all too sure as to how to get where he is going. I want to ask for directions, maybe too tag along with the old guy...I know that is not an option. Besides, I wouldn't want to cheat myself out of the lesson that is finding my own path.