He didn't care if he fell asleep in his chair; the bed they shared for so long was half empty now, and all he could hold onto were memories. His days were just movements he'd learned over time, nothing of any importance, or so he kept telling himself.
He didn't take notice when his neighbor saw him dancing through an open window, his slippers gliding across the parlor floor to music only they could hear.
He didn't care when people said he had lost touch with reality, because when he lost her, reality became etched in stone. A constant reminder of a love that had a beginning but never an end.
He would still watch sunsets from the porch, slowly rocking in the swing he built for her decades ago, with memories of her bare feet rubbing against his work boots, her hand in his as the night creatures woke in harmony.
He didn't care that he was old as each passing second brought him one minute closer to holding her again in his empty arms, dancing to their favorite songs, in slippered feet, and mending his broken heart.
He didn't care when people said he had lost touch with reality, because when he lost her, reality became etched in stone. A constant reminder of a love that had a beginning but never an end.
He would still watch sunsets from the porch, slowly rocking in the swing he built for her decades ago, with memories of her bare feet rubbing against his work boots, her hand in his as the night creatures woke in harmony.
He didn't care that he was old as each passing second brought him one minute closer to holding her again in his empty arms, dancing to their favorite songs, in slippered feet, and mending his broken heart.
Mike 2026
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