Old people seem to like me. Today an old man came to my house and handed me some flowers. I asked him why he brought these to me and he said he wasn’t sure because he had forgotten who I was. I said it didn't matter because I didn't know him either. He was shaking like old people sometimes do. I took his hand and asked him to come into my house.
We talked about his life. I liked to observe the contours of his skull under the skin of his tormented face, when he talked about a love that was denied now more than 40 years ago. He said his tears were still behind his eyes. When he said this I could see him holding back these tears. I think we both cried that way about what life does to people who cannot be together for whatever reason. If I cry I cry like an old man.