Time Of Forgetfulness

He had been to my house often likes to come here, stay for a few days, because of the nature where he can walk along overgrown tracks and see how life used to be lived before. Now he could not find my house and called me told me the name of the cafe where he had stopped. After a meal he went for his walk, but didn´t return and it was getting dark. we found him under an olive tree he was lost, nothing he knew before resembled the forest of dread he was in now. It took a while before he knew me and when he did he cried, the game was up he was slowly succumbing to Alzheimer. In the morning I drove him back to the town my wife was driving in his car behind us. He spoke little and when he did mixed the past and present. When we stopped outside his house he thought I was Dali Lama was flattered to be in his presence; we arranged for him to go into a home, but before it could be done he had a lucid moment and cut his life short, as he refused to follow the lane of the living death, a ghost that had no memories.