Where I stand is where I was.
There, beyond the Eucalyptus branch, sifting through the mist his figure sharpened as he approached.
Noticing nothing. Sharpening still.
His gait was, somehow labored as though the passing years had worn him away. Slightly limping from the uneven weight of the burden’s he’s born. And gently bent from the wind of a hundred secrets.
Promises kept. Promises broken.
Ancient hands curled carefully around each other. Slowly twisting all the memories lost into one song. One story. One moment. One reality that somehow slipped through his fingers until all that was left was… nothing. Nothing more than sweet smells of the past winding their scents into this place.
Whispers of who he was and who he is.
A ghost, thick with life and stories and children and lovers and hatred and betrayal and loyalty.
A hero, maybe? One who’s legacy is far from known. Forgotten even, once upon another time.
So, where I stand is where he was.
There, beyond the Eucalyptus branch, sifting through the mist, his figure softens as he fades.
Noticing everything. Softening still.