The Old Man and Me

This journal entry was written after a half-drunken talk about expectations, future plans, and unhappiness.

I stood beside an elderly man on the pier. Some would think me a giant as I stood while he sat hunched over on the bench. We looked out at the sea, gazed into the horizon where the sun would hide each night. The sky had slowly turned its brilliant blue into pastel hues of oranges, pinks, and purples.

"I don't have many wants," I said to him. "I've only ever wanted to be with my family." These were the first words between us. Before, the silence had only let its presence known once the winds stopped blowing and the waves stopped crashing. "The weight of their wants and needs was a heft I carried on my shoulders until my knees gave out. They told me what made them happy and what would make them happy. Soon enough, they started telling me that these things would make me happy as well."

All the old man did was sit and listen. He heard every little thing I had to say. "Money, wealth, work, a family, a wife, children," were amongst the words that flowed from my mouth. "They told me how to be happy, and I believed them." And with each and every word the sun lowered itself further down its bed, and lit the nightlights that dappled its ceiling.

I looked over at the man, and all I saw on his face was a serene smile. I then stared at the empty seat beside him until I felt compelled to sit down.