There’s this old lady living across the big, old house across the street. She lives with only her caretaker and sometimes, a gardener comes in to tend her garden. She has these huge vines of bougainvilleas crawling and hanging around and over the walls surrounding her house and sometimes if I let my mind wander, I pretend they’re pink and white cherry blossoms.
This old lady didn’t have any kids or a husband at all. From what I’ve heard from our household help, she was the one of the daughters of a really wealthy landowner.
Most of the time, when I ride my bike during the late afternoons, I pass by her sitting on a bench and she’s listening to music from her younger years. I think music is her most faithful companion. Some stray cats also lounge around her feet once in a while and she feeds them bits and pieces of food. Sometimes, she sees me and smiles and sometimes she doesn’t.
I don’t mean to pry but it’s just that I find myself in her. That after 60 years, I’d be just as old and lonely and listening to music from my past.
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