His will to read wasn't strong enough, so he was content to just sit and watch life before his eyes. Still, he didn't let go of his hardcover book―an impeccable edition. He recalled the careful handwriting he used to sign the books he received as a gift from the time was a child. Back to the house where he grew up, settled on the porch, he enjoyed the quietness of not having to give orders or complete any tasks. The mild temperature he found there made him understand that his actions were unnecessary, whether at work or in maintaining his little eccentricities―the way he folded his shirts or organized his books on the bookshelf.

Sitting back at the old chair, he closed his eyes to enjoy his recent discoveries. The book fell to the ground and woke him up, but it didn't make his smile fade upon remembering the dream he was having: He was a boy and enjoyed a multi-color swirl lollipop while his mother watered the garden where the lilies started to bloom.