The Old Man

Jesus, I walk in the door and the old man’s sitting alone in his chair with his eyes closed and tears running down his face. Nothing has happened. The room is quiet. A breeze comes through an open door. The cat walks in. A clock ticks, That's all. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about all the mistakes, the missed chances, and the lost friends. He’s mourning the things that were but aren’t anymore and the things that could have been but never were.