More than it Seemed

     Sonder (n.): The realization that each passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
     Another night at one of those cultural parties, what a drag. The fun depended on how willing people were to interact with each other, and in a room full of teenagers, dragged together, separated by material cliques and gender conformities it was hell. After some lame attempts to join with the festivities me and few friends broke off from the mass out into the surrounding area, in a desperate attempt to search.
     A search for what? I still don't know. Maybe it was out of boredom, an inquiry of what else was a possibility of this dull time simply the rebellious feeling sneaking out with a bunch of friends in a unknown neighborhood with unknown circumstances, but the need to break apart was present and the urgency to explore something new was omnipresent, but only presenting itself so clearly now.
     So we walked, talking about nothing at wall, walking nowhere in sight, on no account of any purpose. We were lost in our own margins of thought, each pondering his own philosophy in the rare solitude that they had come to find. Almost a reward in itself undisturbed solitude and stillness that almost felt like a lapse in time we nearly subject ourselves to only this joy, forgetting our initial purpose.
     After a while, being stuck to one's own imagination became too tiresome and we all felt the end of our exploration nearing. But just as this troublesome thought appeared a pleasant one came to replace it. There was a curve in the path leading up to a hilltop in the woods with a standout point. The scent of the trees, sought with the sight of the lofty hilltop in an unknown path charged the air wit a special calm, a unison of understanding between all of us. That was it, that was what we had been looking for.
     Looking more closely there was a twitch up the ridge, a silhouette, tall and brooding. An guy, standing at the top,  laying their arms on the railing looking out. The leaves blew over the moonlit pavement , making the him seem fixed to a sliding sidewalk, the slight breeze carried him forward. His dark eyes were fixed to the world, no movement escaped him. He looked so peaceful, just so happy.
     "Wow," I quietly whispered "I wish I was where he was." And in the glad revelation that someone had said it first they all turned to me raising there eyebrows and with the first person darting to the top we all followed. All of us sprinted up, but came to a halt in front of the person. Honestly I don't know what to expect, someone pristine looking out philosophically? A musician, looking on the dancing lights of the city for inspiration? A man, like us, looking for some serenity? Whatever suspicions we had they all depleted the first second we came into contact with him.
     His eyes were swollen red, and we heard him talking into his phone, his voice pleading and anxious. His hair was ragged, but not the stylish kind, one hinting he hadn't taken a shower in a while and his knuckles gleamed on the railing blushing an inflamed appearance. When he turned around he gave an apologetic smile, almost to say sorry for the disappointment.
     And then he walked past us and left.
     I'll never know what he was talking about. I'll never know how he found himself up there that night. I'll never know why was hurting.
     All I know is that however complex and vivid my journey to that hill was, his was just as so. But what, how, or why, I guess I'll never know.