The Secret Life of Mr. Richard #366

When I was a child, there was a man who lived across the street. He would sit in front of the house as though he were waiting for something. There was something peculiar about him. But I never quite figured out what it was. He appeared to be still as the lake, but it seemed as though he was burdened by a thousand thoughts.  Sometimes he would swing by the park with his guitar around his neck playing melodies that mirrored the state of euphoria. His music was full of life, even though he didn’t seem to be. He brought smiles to the kids’ faces but it felt like the world around him was gloomy.  Sometimes I wondered if the happiness he projected to the world was truly his, a reflection of the life he wished for or an escape from the world of his own.  But the truth is, I never really knew Mr. Richard.