In the waning evening, an old man sat alone on an easy bench in the garden. His limp hand grasped a piece of paper, his lips flushed with time. Sadness and regret had written the words on paper, and no sincere apology was ever offered. He looked at her intently, tears welling up in his eyes, knowing that he had been lost because of the years and the silence of the grave and that his opportunity to repair her had been lost.
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