I am pleased to be here, despite them. This is my place, I will shape it the way I want: I do not care what anyone else thinks. I am a free man.

He listens to the silence, no-one else could hear or see what he picks up through the fine rain over the garden. Is he dreaming? Is he slowly losing sense of reality? Is this the onset of madness? Yet, he looks normal, a quiet old man, pottering around the house, walking around the garden. Only if you looked at his eyes would you start wondering: what is this flame? Is he possessed?

Has an evil force got hold of his mind? He plays on his violin inspired melancholic tunes, then pauses and appears to be asleep, eyes shut.

Eyes wide shut, perhaps, reminiscing, reliving long past adventures.

Image source: Waiving Entropy

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