I first saw him when I was going to school, I was still in middle school back then. He sitted in the same spot every single day. He's an old man maybe in his 60s, he waers the same clothes. He's not a begger , but if you give him money he'll take it, he never asks for money but never refuses it. At first I always tried to avoid meeting eyes with him, I respected him without knowing why, I came to think that I loved him like a father. Whenever I headed to school I kept looking for him, and for years I walked the same road just to see him and when I couldn't find him I wondered where he might've been, did he eat. how is he doing these days. He always slept in the street, in the same place right next to a cyber. Whenever I had money in my pocket I asked myself if I was ready to give it to him, but I held myself from doing so because I felt like he was worth giving more to. It's like everything I had meant nothing. I've seen him a lot of times eating food a store's owner gives him. I tried imagining what he thinks: why is he this way? Has his life always been this rough?. My aunt was the one that told me that he takes money if you give it to him. I've always wanted to talk to him but couldn't, untill one day. If I can remember well, I had a test in that day and asked God that if he helps me getting throught that test I'll give that man money. It was 6:30 pm I was coming back from school and I hoped to find him in his usual spot, and he was there. I walked to him; my heart was pounding I couldn't approach him, but I made a promise and I had to keep it. When I gave him money, the mosque was opened and people were Inside praying, in front of the mosque sellers where standing, and as I walked through the street I started crying. For no reason, it's just that I couldn't help it, tears fell naturaly, I felt bad that I gave him money, I felt like he was worth more I hated myself and at the same time I knew that I loved him, not in a lover's way, but as one loves his family. So after that I asked a friend of mine to tell me his story, her mother lived in the appartment above us and she knew everything about him, she told me that he was very rich and that he lost all his money to his brother but she wasn't sure about the story. I felt bad for him and I kept thinking about how it must have been hard for him. I didn't see him after that for a while until I met in front of a bar, maybe he was just standing there but for some reason I thought that he drinks. Maybe I lost respect for him, I thought that he lost his money because of alcohol.
I haven't seen him for a while , it's been months now, I remembered him today for some reason, I couldn't accept it but he reminded me of my dad for some reason, I didn't want to compare him to my dad because I hate comparing my father to anyone, he's too precious to me.I still don't know that man's real story and I am too shy to ask about it, but that's not the more important thing, the important thing is that: I don't know his name.