I saw an old man on the bus. He slowly made his way to a seat in the front. Sat there and gazed through the window. Big vintage glasses. A wool green flat cap sitting on his head. Grocery bag by his feet. I was a few rows behind him on the other side of the bus. He took off his cap with a gentle motion. He softly swept his hand over his head, revealing a crown of white and gray hair. I wanted to sit next to him and listen to his stories. I couldn't stop looking, hypnotized by the old man's aura. A good man aura. A life well lived aura.

Ambiguous emotions began brewing on the pit of my stomach. My eyes grew heavy, and I found myself holding back tears—feeling more lost than ever. I didn't understand what was happening to me. I tried to imagine what his day, his routine, looked like...

At dawn, the light wakes him up and he lingers in bed for half an hour. His limbs stiff and unwilling. He sits on the edge of the bed. Pauses for a moment to gather the strength to get up. Memories of more agile mornings in his mind. In the kitchen, he prepares tea and toast. The kettle's whistle is the only sound. He eats a few grapes on the side. His appetite isn't the same. Food tastes differently. Next is the shower. A challenge he's now willing to take three times per week. Then he faces the wardrobe. Feels the fabric of the clothes with trembling hands and makes his choice. Proud that his sense of style remains. Putting on the clothes is another test to his patience and perseverance. Every button and zipper conspiring against him. He ties his shoelaces with care, but needs to pause to let out a sigh. He's finally ready to head out. He walks with dignity, yet knows the world outpaces him. Arrives at the store and goes through every aisle. He inspects the produce. Each fruit and vegetable. Expertly touches the avocados to determine their ripeness. Complains to the cashier about how expensive everything is. Calmly, he places a few items in his bag. Can't buy too much because he needs to carry the bag all the way back.

People came in and out of the bus, but I was fixated on the old man. The unknown emotions I was feeling became stronger. A couple of tears managed to escape. There I was, a grown man, discretely crying on the bus for no reason. I continued to wonder about the rest of his day. A stream of questions began to pour...

Is his house far from the bus stop. How long would he have to carry that heavy grocery bag. Does he need to climb up the stairs. Is anyone waiting for him at home. Did he find a good wife. Did he build a good family with her. Is she alive. If she died, did he feel relief, knowing she was spared the pain of loneliness in her final years. Was she the love of his life, or was she just around at the right time and place. Did they run out of things to talk about. Did they run out of things to laugh about. Did he get all the pussy he wanted before her. Did he get all the pussy he wanted after her. At which point did he accept the fact that he was never going to fuck again. What brought him joy after this realization. Did he spent his youth stuck inside an office. Did he pursue artistic passions. Do his children visit him. Do his grandchildren call him. Is he proud of them. Are they proud of him. How much longer does he want to live. Does he fear death, or welcome it.

The bus arrived to my stop. As I passed by the old man, I tried to make eye contact, but he kept staring through the window. I stood on the bus stop and watched the bus drive away. Couldn't get him out of my head. I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.

I understood that all those questions were my own fears. Fear of my inability to visualize my own future. Fear of time. Fear that, when I'm his age, I won't have good answers for those questions. Every good thing that's happened to me, every chance at happiness, I've pushed away. Good women who loved me. Friends who cared. Always thinking that things will work out effortlessly. That things will magically fall into place because I'm special. When I die, God, with a big smile, will hand me a list of all the women I could've fucked but never made a move on. The unknown emotions started to make sense. I don't have the aura of the old man on the bus.