I paused instantaneously as I reached the old wooden bench on my way to my office. Something is missing, I thought to myself. Today, again the bench is empty.

          Every day, on my way to my office I pass by this beat up, damaged bench. Every day I see his warm smile greeting others as he sits, so lonely. His long, matted hair hangs on his shoulders like unwashed dreadlocks. His clothes, just barely holding on long enough to keep him warm for the harsh, winter weather. But we can’t expect anything more, he has no money. Dazed and lost, he’d hum to himself. He’d play a sad melody on his guitar, where people would walk by and put coins in front of him.

          The bench looks more deserted and sad today than usual. I look around in hopes someone might know his whereabouts. No use in asking the strangers that pass by every day, using this as a passage to their destination. For him, it was home.

          I see a young man, slowly walking closer to the wooden bench wiping his eyes. He had a bouquet in his left hand and an envelope in his right. The man walked away sobbing, as I started walking closer.

          I looked down at the note that read:

Rest in Peace.

          Day after day, beaten by the brutal weather at night, he couldn’t bear it anymore. I felt a lump at my throat, a tear rolled down my face as I placed the note back down on the bench.