“I feel worn out,” he said. He did not need to. To look at him, you yourself felt worn out. Even his clothes were frayed. His eyes, to meet them—ah, how can I express it? He held the bitter weight of many years of hard and uncompromising labor in his gaze. You yourself felt that you had worked hard all day. You saw in those eyes that there was more work yet still to do.
“You look worn out,” I sighed.
And he grasped my arm. I thought of the ancient mariner. Yet, there are no weddings anymore. No music. Nothing to call me away.
“I am very tired.”
“I know. Do you want to sleep?”
He did not need to answer. I had seen it in his eyes. But his hand fell away and he nodded at me.
“Then sleep,” I said, and the specter vanished.
Tale Told 