Today I met a man without a name.

When I looked at him he looked my way.

I was curious as to who this man really was, so I 

tried to group my words in my mind,

but I couldn’t find the ones

that form my thoughts.

So I stood there,

and he stood there,

silently staring in complete

wonder and amazement.

The moon was shining through

a window behind him and I wanted to say

What a beautiful moon we have tonight. But it

seemed to soon to ruin the silence with

unnecessary sound.

So, I stood there,

silently staring into his eyes,

which were a deep, dark brown.

We seemed to have an entire conversation

without ever opening our mouths.

He said he’s gone through half his life

and not a single moment has passed by

that he’s a bit proud of. And I said I,

I can change that. I can give you a life

that you can take home to your parents,

that you can brag about in your locker room rants 

to your, so-called friends,

to your quasi tolerable co-workers

who can’t stop bragging about the

promotion that they got and

you thought you had in the bag.

He listened,

though he saw a future that I didn’t.

I couldn’t see that it was just a

fantasy that I couldn’t get out of my head.

Soon, he made me see.

He made me see the closed doors and the

broken floor boards of this

not so squeaky clean dream.

Today I conversed with man, he had no name.

And without ever once opening his mouth,

he told me about the nothings that cloud

his entire life so far.

I looked at him and he looked my way.

I couldn’t help but figure out that his

life mirrored mine.

A life like a cloudy April day.

Staring into the doorway of our future

selves, we couldn’t speak.

And when I say we, I really mean me.

Because I’m

silently staring into a combination of

silver and glass made to reflect

the innermost self.

But who am I?

Who is the man that stares back at me?