Thoughts of a Pauper

A homeless man describes his usual life and what he really yearns for.

People kept walking across the street. Some dressed in neat suits, some in shirts, jeans and nice sweaters. Moving through the street to go someplace else. A couple walked past me hand in hand. The woman threw her head backwards and laughed into the air above her. Just then the man she was with saw me. He almost immediately looked forward, still laughing from the joke he had made, and kept walking forward. And there, next to the telephone booth, two men were having a laugh. I assumed they didn't previously know each other. My instincts turned out to be right after I heard one of them say, 'It was nice meeting you...'

Just then a kid dropped a penny into my can. The copper clanged off the metal. His mom looking at him with a smile on her face. Proud maybe, of her son's compassion. She then looked at me smiling. She nodded her head. Took her son by the hand and continued walking.

I was grateful. But I couldn't help but crave for interaction. Why wouldn't anyone talk to me? They would drop a coin or a dollar. But I don't think they realize that I would not trade a genuine conversation with them for a hundred dollar bill. I wish someone would talk to me. Ask me about my life. Why I ended up on the streets. I have emotions too. I would like someone to tell me, 'it was nice meeting you..'

Even if it be for a minute, it would make me feel like I'm a part of their world. Not an alien with no face. An invisible man with no reason to live. That's how people make me feel. I try to get a job too, but no one wants to hire me. They don't know my pain. I cry too. Sometimes so much that I can open my eyes. I want someone to share my feelings with. I'd like someone to pat me in the back and tell me it will be alright, even if their words are hollow, it would give me strength.
Have these people ever felt so cold, that they would say 'I'm freezing to death', and couldn't wait to get back home? That when they do, they would cuddle with their loved ones among pillows and blankets. Next time. I hope they remember me. I have to live through those cold nights. Wrong. I have to survive. I will be freezing to death while they sleep in their bouncy beds.

Who am I? Among the billions. What is my purpose? Shouldn't I deserve what they all have? I should. At least a little. Because my life matters too!...Or does it?

Author's Note

I'm relatively new to writing. Be as critical of my work as you would. I really want to improve.