There he was, sitting alone on a bench in the back of a church whose walls were painted in a bright orange.
The only man who was watching about 20 elderly women who where celebrating a late Mother's Day in June.
Coming closer I could see his face.
I have always believed in coming closer.
I have always believed that the simple fact that you decide to come closer enriches your life.
When humans get older their faces become like paintings conveying a little bit of the spirit that has lived and is still living in this body for a whole life. Even if we ourselves don't like our changed physical appearance when looking in the mirror, as an artist I think it is beautiful. Over time our faces become alive.
I can not tell you how many times, while working on this book, I would have loved to pause and stay a little longer and hear someone's story right through to the end.
Even when just catching a glimpse of someone on the street I often feel like saying to that person: I would like to listen to your story from the beginning right to the end - if you would like to talk.
I can not count how many times I had that wish in my life. Often you can pause and listen but many times you have to move on.
I really do not know who he is and I had not the time to get to know him.
But I have this beautiful photo of his face which is like a painting of life itself
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