Thursday, 15 May 2014

That time of year.

The old man is walking around the house, he is feeling tired and his body is stiff with the day.

The house is empty except for this wanderer, but his memories are following him and others are waiting for him.

So he is not really alone.

He is crowded out by the past.

Each memory holds a face, a voice or words that were spoken; some make him smile, others make him cry.

No one sees the smile.

No one hears his tears.

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