It was not from her, but he wished that it
were.
So the old man imagined that it was.
Even though it wasn’t.
And the old man came to believe that she
had said those things.
Even though he knew he was a fool.
That she hadn’t.
Not to him.
But the old man wanted it to be so.
And he thought of asking her if she had,
even though he knew she would say no.
So the old man didn’t.
He continued to pretend.
That way he slept at night.
But the old man woke each day knowing that
the sky he saw above was just an illusion.
That clear was cloud; blue was grey and
that the birds were not singing.
And that the trees were sighing under the
weight of leaves that were dying.
And tha,t despite their colours.
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