The Old Man

The orange light filling the room. The green leather sofa looks old and tired, for all the sad stories which has heard. The old man was tired too, always being part of a world who has never noticed him. Loneliness haunt him since the last week, she was gone, and he was empty.

He is the sad sculpture of what someday was a man. Now he was a ghost, the shadow of his past. So he sits there every day, watching the sun which born and dies. He stays there, he doesn't move, he doesn't speak.

Nobody knows, but he found the meaning of life the day she was gone. He finally understood, that life was nothing itself till you decide to fill it with love, sadness, pain, fear…Life was a choice, but not for her. She was gone, and he still there as her memory, like the sun, born and dies every day.

Author's Note

I want advice to improve my writing

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Your words effectively conjure visions of the old man and his sadness. I see your creative intent, despite there being a few errors in word usage.

[samparks,sam]

be positive in feelings, read mine poem How I feel you