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THE OLD MAN ON THE BENCH
As I sat on the porch swing, watching the sun drag its feet across the horizon, I couldn't help but feel like time was stuck. Days blended together like the hues of a watercolor painting – indistinguishable and endless.
It was summer, and the world seemed to have deserted me. My friends were all away on vacation, and my family was busy with their own lives. I was left alone with my thoughts, which felt like a heavy burden.
I'd spend hours wandering the empty streets, searching for someone, anyone, to talk to. But every door I knocked on led to silence or apologies. "Sorry, I'm busy." "Sorry, I'm not home." The world seemed to be conspiring against me, leaving me isolated and forgotten.
One particularly long day, as I was walking through the park, I stumbled upon an old man sitting on a bench. He looked as lost as I felt. We exchanged glances, and without a word, he patted the space beside him.
I sat down, and he began to tell me stories of his own lonely days. Of wars fought, loved ones lost, and struggles overcome. His words wove a waeve of understanding, reminding me that I wasn't alone in my feelings.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm orange glow, the old man turned to me and said, "You know, kid, sometimes the longest days are the ones that shape us the most. They teach us to find comfort in solitude and to cherish the moments we share with others."
In that instant, the world didn't feel so empty anymore. The old man's words had filled the void, reminding me that even in the most desolate moments, connection and understanding were just a conversation away.
From that day on, I continued to sit with the old man on his bench, listening to his tales and sharing my own. And although the days still seemed long, they no longer felt endless. For in the silence, I had found a friend, and in his stories, a sense of belonging.
© Vicky pen
It was summer, and the world seemed to have deserted me. My friends were all away on vacation, and my family was busy with their own lives. I was left alone with my thoughts, which felt like a heavy burden.
I'd spend hours wandering the empty streets, searching for someone, anyone, to talk to. But every door I knocked on led to silence or apologies. "Sorry, I'm busy." "Sorry, I'm not home." The world seemed to be conspiring against me, leaving me isolated and forgotten.
One particularly long day, as I was walking through the park, I stumbled upon an old man sitting on a bench. He looked as lost as I felt. We exchanged glances, and without a word, he patted the space beside him.
I sat down, and he began to tell me stories of his own lonely days. Of wars fought, loved ones lost, and struggles overcome. His words wove a waeve of understanding, reminding me that I wasn't alone in my feelings.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm orange glow, the old man turned to me and said, "You know, kid, sometimes the longest days are the ones that shape us the most. They teach us to find comfort in solitude and to cherish the moments we share with others."
In that instant, the world didn't feel so empty anymore. The old man's words had filled the void, reminding me that even in the most desolate moments, connection and understanding were just a conversation away.
From that day on, I continued to sit with the old man on his bench, listening to his tales and sharing my own. And although the days still seemed long, they no longer felt endless. For in the silence, I had found a friend, and in his stories, a sense of belonging.
© Vicky pen
