text: The old man across the table looked ancient. Not ancient in the way most old people are. His eyes were old. Forever. The only wrinkles he contained were confined to the corners of his eyes. It was as if his body never aged, but his eyes had existed before the beginning of time. Of course, if he’s to be believed, then that very well might be the case. “Immortal”, he said. “As old as the earth itself and probably wiser”. Making eye contact is always difficult, but looking in this man’s eyes was like staring into a bottomless well. It felt soul-sucking. Empty and infinite. Yet, I knew there would be something at the bottom. Something foul and gruesome while also life-giving. Wells were like that. You think of a well and you think deep disgusting pit with bones at the bottom. But wells gave water. They gave life. They provided when other sources didn’t. In that way, wells were both life and death. Just like this man. “Being immortal isn’t what you think it is. No one thinks about the passing of days. Imagine your longest, most boring day. Imagine the days you’ve lived. Can you count them all? I lost track many decades ago. I aged with technology, with advancements and with knowledge. Before there was anything, I was there. After there is nothing, I imagine I will still be there”. He leaned back in his chair. His back groaned as loud as the wooden supports. “I’ve witnessed it all. Even the small things. I’ve witnessed the creation of great monuments. I’ve witnessed the crying of a mother that has lost her child. I witnessed the first murder. I’ve witnessed the creation of greater weapons, and as a byproduct I’ve witnessed the creation of greater murders. I witnessed nukes, bombs, guns and war. Soldiers shot, crying in the dirt as they slowly realize they will not be making it out alive”. There’s pain in his voice, but not a sharp pain. Not a pain of fresh feelings. It’s a resigned pain. There’s no tears, hardly emotion. His eyes are as empty as when we first spoke. I visited this man every Sunday, my one day off. “No one thinks about how you lose everyone. How you watch people age and die and birth again. The cycle of man, of animal, of nature. How can you grow attached to something you know will end soon?” Weeks go by and I continue speaking to the man. He never seems to age a day. “People ask what I am. Who I am. My answer is always the same. I am. I am existence, I am pain, I am desperation. That feeling you get when you lose your best friend, your dear mother, your loved one. That anxiety of impending doom, when all is too well. I am what hides in the dark corners, where you see a shape shifting about.” The restaurant we met at weekly got sold 7 years after meeting the man. 10 years after that, it shut down. “With every wrong, there is a right. With every dark, there is light. This seems cliché, but clichés stick around for a reason. They work. They’re proven. Duality is a strong factor in our lives. I am existence, I am hope, I am grace. I am the first flower of spring. I am the newborn cry, shocked by the first breath in a world of chaos. I am that feeling of calm on a rainy day.” I married, I had kids, my kids had kids. He’s seen them all, but never more than once. “In this way, I am eternal. In all these ways, I have always been and always will be. This doesn’t make me a god; I am no more than any average man. The only difference is I’ve existed far longer. I’ve seen the world and what it has to offer. There’s no good or bad, fair or unfair. There is no light or dark, no duality. As I’ve lived, I’ve realized there is no Yin and Yang. Only existence. Only experiences.” My wife has passed. He didn’t attend the funeral. We never spoke about it, but he was fully aware of everything that happened in my life. I lied in my bed, growing ever sicker. He started visiting my room every Sunday, sitting beside me. “I have no answers, only questions. But as I’ve lived, I’ve come to terms with never receiving any answers. Answers are not a part of our existence. This world offers only questions, like an unresolved mystery. A cold case murder. D.B. Cooper, the Zodiac Killer, all mysterious. Their identities, sure, but also what compelled them to act in the ways they did. Human beings killing other human beings. Man against man, woman against woman. Finding differences to rationalize their prejudice. “ “Is life futile? Does our presence on this earth even matter? Nobody leaves a lasting impact, at least not one that matters once everyone has long gone. When the earth is nothing but a speck of dust in the cosmos, will what you have done matter? Because of this question, why worry? Why hate, why loathe, why grow distaste knowing that ultimately it doesn’t matter. Humans create their own reason, their own purpose. I’ve created my own purpose, though I’m not sure what that might be anymore.” “We make and lose friends, lovers, family. We watch them grow and fade. After they’re gone, do they truly matter? Our scope is limited. The random person on the other side of the world never comes into our existence. You shall never know the life of a stranger. Does that bother you? Does that not keep you up at night, to know you cannot physically experience everything, everyone, all at once?” “But on the other side of the coin, even if we do not truly matter, this is our experience. We care. To care is to love and to hate. I love the people around me, and I hate what they do. I love you, and I hate to see you leave. There’s something odd, something terrifying, about watching someone you love leave. We may think we’ll see them again, we may hope there’s another side, but are you certain? All that’s guaranteed is that everyone will leave.” “I have no answers, and it’s the most unsatisfying feeling that could possibly be felt. Only wondering. Endless searching has given us psychology and an understanding but that’s not an answer. It has only generated more questions. Why do we dream? What’s the voice in our head? Why do some people have more than one?” I pass away, lying next to him. I could’ve sworn he held my hand in my final moments. I cannot say whether there is another side, but I can say that this man will never see it. That unresolved feeling will be with him forever. He never cried, never shed a tear. He moved on, used to the fact that people left. But he did grow attached. It’s impossible not to. How do you know someone so deeply and not care for them? Then again, how do you not care for someone knowing they are like you? This man gave me many questions, and very few answers. He had none. I wish I could have given him some comfort. Maybe I did. He wanders into a large coffee chain which had replaced the family-owned restaurant that was there before. He will never find answers. But at least he had a moment of hope with me. That is the greatest gift I will have ever given.