Conversation with the Martian

One for Him

Waist-length straight silver hair,

A very pale complexion,

A pair of emotionless gray eyes.

He is sitting on my bench. My secret bench.

"It is your secret place," a pair of emotionless gray eyes looking at me.

I nod.

"We can share for six days, then I will disappear," he looks at the sea, not waiting for an answer.

He knows I cannot say anything

Cold fingers grab my arm, he makes me sit next to him, his long hair flutters around, showing the way of the wind, "act as if I am not here."

I do not answer, he is not here.

We watch the sea silently, the waves are hitting the rocks under us, making loud sounds and splashing the salty water to our feet. My feet. He sits cross-legged.

Motionless.

I take out my small notebook and a graphite pencil, starting to draw the waves as they are beating the rocks.

One hour... two hours... three hours...

Boundless human silence...

Falling into the endless loneliness...

Quasimodo's gift, let's enjoy loneliness

He nods.

I do not want to go. It is my place. I carried the bench here. The owner has to leave his place but the guest stays. Does not make sense.

But I have to go.

I stand up reluctantly but cold fingers grab my arm. Again. He fetches my notebook and tear the page with the drawing I just completed.

"Who can appreciate it better than the real owner?" He throws the drawing to the waves.

The waves look at the drawing, they like it so they claim it.

I smile and leave him behind,

The owner leaving but the guest staying...