He liked to sit on the brick wall that was in front of our house, staring at the water. He would sometimes sit there for hours. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes crying. Sometimes napping. He never seemed too worried. I don’t know his name. He would sit there and hug his knees to his chest. Always the same short, dark curls. Always dark jeans and a t-shirt with some obscure rock band on the front. Occasionally a jacket, always UofM. But, based on his looks, I doubt he played sports or even know the rules to football, but I didn’t either. I found myself watching him. He was interesting to watch. It made me feel safe. I didn’t have to worry about my parents telling me to play with friends or practice the piano. When I watched him through the window, nothing else in the world mattered. One moment he’d be smiling and the next he’d look unbearably sad. Sometimes he would lie completely still, and sometimes he would bounce all over the place. He might have been thinking about absolutely nothing or everything that has ever existed. And I know it might sound ridiculous, but I think I loved him.