Unknown

This is the story of a man...

A man whom many depend on;
When they are in morose.
A man whom many people know him;
His jolly, tempered but positive attitude.
A man whom many accuse;
His playfulness, his abundant friends.
This is the story of a man,
When one night,
With his car parked dead by the side of the pavement,
His windows rolled down,
His car door partially opened,
His seat folded back,
Laying there in the silence,
With a cigarette on the tip of his fingers.
His mind was quiet, much like the void of the space.
His body was still, much like the midnight lake.
A mild wind broke, blowing his hair a side.
He then drew his phone from his pocket, blindly stared at it.
He opens his phone book, and so he sees familiar names.
He started off from A, scrolling his way through.
A small mosquito landed on his car door, still; as though observing him.
As he scrolled from A to G, K, S and so on,
He realized how empty the phonebook was.
He scrolled and scrolled,
And finally reached bottom Z.
He switched off his phone,
Finished his cigarette,
Flicked it out into the drain.
His seat was back up straight,
His door softly closed,
He springs the engine to live.
As he was reversing his car into the drive way,
He looked at the back mirror,
Noticing the smudged thumb print on his glasses.
He wiped it clean, and place them back on.
He sees clearer now,
his vision recovered.
So off he goes,
To where no one knows, but him.

This is a story of a man,
And that man, knows.