His shirt is blue, but it's a lighter shade than his eyes. His jeans are black, but darker and more washed out than his inky locks. His shoes are gray with white laces.
He's always outside when I pass by. I imagine that he's waiting for me. I gaze at him as I walk past. He never seems to realize that I'm there, that I exist. He plays an acoustic guitar sometimes. Sometimes he's shuffling a deck of cards. Other times he just stares off into the distance.
I wish I could join in when I hear him singing softly. I wish I could sit next to him on the steps and lean my head on his shoulder. I wish that I, too, could ignore the world and forget the cars driving past, and do nothing, do nothing. I wish he could kiss me and the dark stubble on his face would tickle my cheek and then we'd go in and have cereal for dinner.