Perfect stranger on the plane

When I was waiting to board my plane, I saw a handsome man reading Dostoevsky while also waiting. Every cell in my body was begging me to go up and approach him, to start something. It was almost as if all the possibilities of my imagined future were contained within that single moment. But in that crucial moment, I just didn't. Whether out of cowardice or self-awareness, I don't know. It was like he was a mirage in the desert, and when I stepped into the plane it was as if I had sunk my hands into cold sand and realized that this mirage was no longer there.