A Few Lifetimes

I sit at the cafe quietly reading a book, or scribbling in my omnipresent pad of paper, or sitting back and sipping my tea. It can be any time of day or night, the days being of a not-too-frenetic pace, the nights quiet and unpopulated.

I sit on the bus, facing someone my age who is staring out the window, listening to his music. I'm taking in the scenery, and the other passengers, and thinking of my destination, and what I shall do next.

I sit on the train, my music turned up loud so I can hear it over the screech of grinding rails. I'm facing any number of other passengers, who all have their own destinations, and thoughts, and lives. I watch the scenery outside pass, and when the tunnel walls allow no such view, I peer around the train.

In each case, I try to meet peoples' gazes, to smile softly and to nod quietly. Very sendomly do they meet my gaze with their own, to acknowledge me as anyone but yet another human in this populated area, another human to pass by, another human to stand in line behind, another human to take up a seat, another human who seeks food, shelter, and other such basic ambitions.
Never do they see a friend. Not someone to interact with. I wonder sometimes if I am the only person in the world who is not so self-absorbed that I don't even recognize my surroundings, that there are people about me, any one of them a potential interest, for a few seconds or a few lifetimes.