Forgotten
When I was younger I remember seeing elderly people in care
homes. Their eyes were tired and frosted. I knew that these eyes contained many
memories, that had become echoes over time. They had seen suffering and joy, peace
and chaos, and I expected them to be surrounded by sorrow. But they weren’t.
They had accepted pain, but not suffering. They were tranquil. It reminded me
of the unorthodox beauty of a withering rose. Or an old monument built
centuries ago and at peace with its place in the world. Still standing, like a
fading phantom from the past, keeping us from forgetting our history.
These people had seen enough of the world to keep them
content. Now they had closed their eyes, turned their back to the pandemonium
of the world. They were at peace, knowing that they left enough footprints to
not be forgotten.
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