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Morning Monologue
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Through the patchwork of his eighty-something years, a singular motif emerges—the unswerving devotion to early morning awakenings. With eyes barely parted from the realm of dreams, this elderly gentleman commences his daily ritual, tracing the familiar pathways around his surroundings.
However, this routine harbors an element of discord, for it stands in stark contrast to the hushed serenity of the early hours. His vocal presence disrupts the tranquility, for anyone who has the fortune, or perhaps the misfortune, to cross his path is subjected to a barrage of boisterous greetings. "Hey, you are so early in the morning. You are a diligent person. What are you doing? Where are you heading for?" The words inundate incessantly from his loquacious lips, a never-ending river of inquiry and enthusiasm.
For those who encounter the old man, emotions are often tinged with a sense of disarray. The morning, by nature, is a realm of quiet introspection, a sanctuary of reverie and sweet dreams. The intrusive utterances, however well-intentioned, are dissonant notes in this symphony of solitude. Particularly for those early risers, with their secret plans and private intentions, such interruptions are unwelcome.
In a bid to elude the old man's relentless greetings, many embark on strategic maneuvers, crafting intricate routes to avoid his eagle-eyed gaze. Yet, fate is not always kind, and when their paths inevitably cross, they must brace themselves for the inevitable onslaught of words.
The elderly gentleman, though perhaps well-intentioned, remains blissfully unaware of the discomfort he may inflict. Boundaries and personal space seem foreign to his nature, as he engages in his daily quest for conversation, unwavering and undaunted.
The repercussions of his unending monologues reach far beyond the boundaries of his morning encounters. His own family, including his wife, sons, and daughters, are weighed down by the burden of his ceaseless chatter. Engaging with him becomes an arduous task, and the cycle continues—a vicious circle where his isolation merely fans the flames of his unceasing monologues.
But underlying this cacophony of conversation is a profound need—a yearning for companionship that he cannot bear to silence. In the absence of others, he cannot endure loneliness, and thus, he embarks on his morning rounds, ready to converse with any passerby who may happen upon his path. His vigil continues until the moonlight and starlight grace the horizon.
