Walking hand in hand like old friends.
Sitting together when one gets tired.
Returning when one can’t walk any longer.
At home, together again.
Looking out for each other.
Timetables. Food times.
And making a joke about it all.
But most of all, hearing stories.
From long ago to the last moment.
The wisdom never ends.
No one wants it to.
And then, one is gone.
The stories are left behind.
Like fragrance of flowers.