Loneliness may express itself in a room full of voracious laughter.

On a Sunday square where old sit on a bench watching children frolic.

 In a song that a lone guitarist strings in front of a busy street side restaurant.

 In a baloon-man who smiles at a child holding a string and letting it go.

 In a boy who wipes his glass by a window sipping coffee. 

In a girl that looks left and right for she has to cross a street. 

Yesterday as I sat on a bench, an elderly came and pointed to his wrist. He knew I did not know Spanish. I took time to open my backpack. Take out my mobile. He waited. I told him. He smiled. His eyes did not meet mine. He looked beyond and said ‘Gracias’. 

And walked on. I watched him go. A few steps later in the square he stopped another young man. And pointed to his wrist. Waited for the man too had his cellphone in his pocket. Having heard the time, he moved on. 

About an hour later I got up from the bench. And as I stretched I looked yonder. And then. Only then did I realise, there was a big clock on the roof of the building  behind me. Where the man was staring.

There comes an age when conversation at any cost, in any form becomes very important.

The perils of Loneliness.

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