He only saw the things that were metaphors of himself. The old man sat on the porch, watching the leaves dance in the cool autumn breeze. His eyes followed their every twirl and flutter, each one a fleeting beauty that mirrored the memories in his mind. "I've seen enough of this," he murmured to himself, his voice barely carrying over the rustling foliage. Inside, the grandfather clock chimed the top of the hour. The muffled sound drifted through the open window, punctuating the silence like a heartbeat. The walls of the house were lined with photographs, each a frozen moment of a life well-lived. The young couple in their wedding attire, the proud father holding his newborn son, the family vacations, and the quiet moments of solitude. They all whispered stories of joy, sorrow, and resilience. The screen door creaked open, and a young girl, no more than eight, stepped out. She held a worn book in her hand, the pages yellowed with age. "Grandpa," she called out, her voice as bright as the dandelions in the yard, "will you read me a story?" He looked at her with a smile that had grown soft around the edges. "Of course, dear," he said, patting the wooden bench beside him. "Which one do you fancy today?" Her eyes scanned the book's spine, landing on a title that had almost faded away. "The one about the invisible lion," she said, handing it to him. He took the book, feeling the weight of the years in its pages. "Ah," he said, "a tale of courage and friendship." He began to read, his voice weaving the words into a warm blanket that wrapped around them both. The girl leaned into him, her curiosity as vast as the sea, while the old man's heart swelled with a mix of joy and a hint of melancholy. The invisible lion, a creature he had never seen but knew so well, roared to life in his mind's eye as he spoke. It was a story he had read to his own children, and now his grandchildren. A story of a beast that only the purest of hearts could perceive. The girl's eyes grew wide with wonder, her imagination painting the scenes as he described them. The invisible lion, a metaphor for strength and bravery, became as real to her as the wind that played with her hair. She saw the lion in every shadow, in every rustling bush. The old man's voice grew softer as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm orange glow. He turned the page and continued, the story's words echoing the rhythm of his life. The invisible lion, a symbol of his own spirit, roared alongside him through battles and heartaches, successes and failures. It was a story that had grown with him, evolving from a simple children's tale to a reflection of his soul. As he read, the old man felt something stir within him, a realization that the lion wasn't just a figment of his imagination, but a part of him that had been there all along. The girl looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with the beginnings of understanding. "Grandpa," she asked, "are you the invisible lion?" He chuckled, the sound warm and full of life. "No, my dear," he said, placing a hand on her head, "but I've felt its roar in my heart many times." The girl nodded, content with his answer. The invisible lion, she knew, was a friend she could always call upon, just like her grandpa. The story grew darker as the shadows lengthened, and the invisible lion faced its most terrifying adversary. Yet, in the face of fear, the lion's roar grew louder, resonating with the old man's own courage. As the final page was turned, the girl looked into her grandpa's eyes, seeing the invisible lion staring back at her. "You're brave like the lion, aren't you?" she said, her voice filled with awe. He took a deep breath, the chill of the evening seeping into his bones. "I've had to be," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of his past. "But remember, the true bravery is in knowing when to roar and when to remain unseen." The stars began to peek out from the darkening sky, winking down at them like old friends. The old man closed the book and looked at his granddaughter. Her eyes were filled with a quiet strength that he hadn't seen before. "Grandpa," she whispered, "can you tell me more stories about the invisible lion?" He leaned back, his hand still resting on her head. "I'd be happy to," he said, "but for now, it's time for bed." He stood up, his joints protesting with gentle creaks. She took his hand, and they walked inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around them like a second skin. As they passed the photographs on the wall, the old man's gaze lingered on one of his son, her father. He was young, with the same unruly hair and mischievous smile she had. The picture was taken before the accident, before the world had turned a shade darker for them all. The invisible lion had been by his side that day too, roaring with the fierce love of a parent protecting his child. But sometimes, even the bravest hearts couldn't stop the cruel hand of fate. They reached her bedroom, and she climbed into bed, her eyes already heavy with sleep. He sat beside her, stroking her hair gently. "Whenever you're scared or lonely," he murmured, "just listen for the lion's roar." Her eyes searched his for a moment before closing. He watched her chest rise and fall with the rhythm of slumber. As he stood up, the invisible lion roared once more, a silent testament to the bond they shared. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, the warmth of his love seeping into her dreams. The old man walked back to the porch, the chorus of night creatures filling the silence. He took a seat in his rocking chair, the familiar creak a comforting lullaby. The leaves danced in the moonlight, and he watched them, the metaphors of his life playing out before him. The invisible lion, his companion through the years, was a reminder of the strength within. He knew that as long as he could feel its roar, he would never truly be alone. The house grew quiet, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock, marking time like a metronome to the rhythm of his heart. The lion was with him, always. And now, it was with her too.

By Carlos del Puente