I have problems of my own as well, of course; we all have our crosses to bear, as they say. I am very old, and something inside me is burning out and fading away, to the point of disappearing entirely.
In a few hours it will be light again, and they can work out what to do. The last thing she hears before slipping into sleep is Mercuro’s voice asking if she can see the stars.
I remained standing there for so long I got to work late. No one saw me arrive. No one noticed I wasn’t there. The slow fading away of the man without love. Sometimes I thought I had faded so far away I had become invisible.
All those leaves, all these details. How long have I been blind to them? How long have my surroundings and the natural world been lavishing on me a generosity I have been completely incapable of receiving? What a waste of beauty on a dead soul.