An old man sat beside me, gazing at the painting of infinity. Though we did not know each other and had arrived at our own times, following our own paths, I was overtaken by the feeling that we had come together to admire the work. It always took my breath away with its overflowing beauty. Around us, there was the soft rustle of coats, the clatter of footsteps, and occasional coughs as visitors moved from one piece to another; yet we were so moved that we existed in our own separate world.
We have met here before, always sitting side by side in front of this same painting. Today, I stepped into the gallery bathed in amber light, the autumn storm still raging inside me. His presence always felt like a warm embrace.
I do not know what made me lay my hand on his soft, wrinkled hand. To my surprise, the man did not recoil; I saw tears kissing his life-hungry face.
