The old man got up everyday around eight o’clock. He showered, made himself breakfast, and put on a shirt he knew she would like. He then went meet with her. He stopped at the flower shop and got her a daisy. She loved the attention. She looked radiant. They chatted for about an hour and then had lunch together. He had brought some wine, intense red wine. They talked and talked for hours. He couldn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t stop laughing…
The gardener asked the watchman who the old man was.
-Ohh, that’s Mr. Hardbroke. He comes everyday around eleven and leaves at six, rains or snows.
-Is that his wife? The gardener asked.
-No, no, no…Mrs. Hardbroke is at home probably waiting for him…
-Whose grave is it then?
-I wish I knew son. The only inscription says “My word is good” …He’s been coming everyday for the past 23 years, and I’ve worked here for 27, so do the math…
The old man left the cemetery crying that day, whispering to himself…
That was the last time Mr. Hardbroke visited that tomb. No one ever saw him again.
Some say he died. Some say he was taken to a mental institution by his family. Some say he finally forgot her….
I’m the only one who knows, he started remembering…
Why did he stop visiting her when he started remembering?
ResponderEliminarDo not stand at my grave and weep;
ResponderEliminarI am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
He remembered...
Oh.. that..
ResponderEliminar