It was great to meet you for breakfast last week. It broke my heart to see your arms dangle beneath your shoulders, while your back hunched over, and you barely managed to shuffle your feet forward.
I watched, as you fought with the fork to win the victory of a piece of fruit that tried escaping you for ten minutes.
I’ll never tell you I noticed you struggle, but I’ll love you through the despair and states of confusion.
You pulled out a letter from your inside coat pocket that was printed in 1986. You found meaning in that letter that you have always held onto, and you trusted it with me.
You carried a portable DVD player to show me your younger years as a sought out dance instructor. I cherish the look in your eyes as you relived those moments, determined to have those days back.
Over 80 years of your life, I have enjoyed you giving me your autobiography. To hear you say that you have never opened up to anyone as much as me, as tears filled your eyes, left me honored.
You share the haunted feelings not leaving your mark on this earth, but you already left your legacy on that dance floor and in my heart.