Christmas Eve at the railway terminal

I wrote this piece two years ago and always wanted to translate it into English. Here it is now:

You made me cry. Not just a tear or two - I was crying throughout Christmas mass that evening. Because I couldn't let go of your picture and of how we met.

My train had arrived earlier than anticipated, due to the holiday schedule, and I was standing inside the terminal, waiting to be picked up. You were cowering on the floor, in a corner, with a few plastic bags scattered around you.You weren't begging, instead you had turned your back on the rest of us as though you didn't want to see those who were merely passing through, who were going places, going home, who were wanted somewhere this Christmas Eve.

I only noticed you with a quick glance and then continued playing with my smartphone. There are so many beggars in the railway terminals these days.

But you weren't begging.

After a while, the terminal became quieter, the passersby were gone. You turned around and took a small candle from your pocket. You lit the candle and placed it on the floor in front of you. While you were looking into the flame, silent tears were streaming down your face.

I went over to you and asked whether I could give you some money. After all, you had not been begging. Hopefully it will be enough for two or three meals. I sat beside you, and you told me you were planning to spend the night there as it would be warm and dry, and a lot safer than at the shelters where you had been robbed more than once.

All I could give you was a bit of money. Then I had to leave.

Yet I still see you there, crying and lonely, sitting on the floor in front of your little candle.

Christmas Eve at the railway terminal.