A man met a woman friend on the street. She cried. Her grandchild had just died on a ski *****, buried under an avalanche. Inconsolable.
He was jealous. I only cry for myself, he thought. Arthritis of the hip, losing mobility, starts my tears.
The man sent a photo of a scythe he had named after a man who had died years ago. He missed the man just as much as the wife to whom he sent the picture. She cried seeing it.
The man was jealous of her tears. I only cry for myself, he thought. Feeling a goodbye coming to his former life and not knowing what to do next. That started his tears.
The man met a boy who just lost his watch. He cried heartbreaking.
Here, take mine, he said. It’s a cheap one and I don’t have as much time left as you.
I only cry for myself, he thought. Getting older, losing illusions, starts my tears.
Well, maybe my tears can provide the birds with drink.