I can follow footprints left behind in deep wrinkled lines. Learn the future in clam eyes of the storm. Gain from the past in the darken, hard earned age spots. I can trace my life in the features of the old man.
Where is he now, and who is this cold lifeless corpse? They tell me it’s him, but it can’t be this man is dead. The old man is still alive. Then again maybe he was never really there, and maybe he was me and I was him this whole time.
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