old people.

i like old people.

i always did. maybe because the place where i've grown up, a village deep in the countryside, a wide area of scattered population that cannot hold the young any more. the old remain. either for emotional attachement to the land where they lived their entire life, or for lacking the will to go somewhere else, even when their children - now adults - ask them. there's something special about old people. especially in the countryside. the way they talk, so simple and sweet, so pure. the way how the smallest things can cheer them up. the importance they give to traditions and gestures that we consider old-fashioned. their practical spirit. and above all, their imense knowledge, made of things that were never learned in school. and how they enjoy talking about it.

all this came to me as i was talking to an old man who works here at the office. some random chat about the weather made us talk about our homeland. and i saw his gray eyes shining as he talked about the land where he grew up, where he still holds a small piece of land that grows some vegetables. i couldn't help notice the smile on his lips, longing for that part of his life that is now so far away, and yet it is still there for him, welcoming him whenever he returns. it made me think about your smile, your long lost smile that opened whenever something amused you. it made me think about your weary eyes, always somewhat sad, remembering a long life. i wonder about the things you've seen, the things you've lived. about the things you've never told me because only too late i realised that i was the one who should break your walls of silence. and now i miss you.

there are wounds that even time cannot mend.