The Man Who Lived a Thousand Years

He was no longer called "Alvaro." Centuries of existence had erased his true name from his memory. He was known only as "The Man Who Lived a Thousand Years." He had no supernatural powers, nor was he truly immortal. Instead, he was afflicted with a strange curse: his body aged at an agonizingly slow pace, while his mind retained every memory, every moment, every loss.

Initially, it was a blessing. He saw empires rise and fall. He witnessed how hooves turned into engines and handwritten letters into digital signals. He walked through the streets of cities that only existed in history books. His memory was a living library, filled with the faces of people he loved who had left him, and the sounds of voices that had faded away.

His first loss was the most painful: the death of his wife, "Laila." He didn't realize that time moved differently for her. He watched her hair turn white and wrinkles etch onto her face, while he remained young. When he laid her in her grave, he felt a part of himself die, but he didn't know that this was just the beginning.

With each new generation, he had to change his name and appearance, moving from place to place. He would sow friendships and build relationships, only to watch them wither and turn to dust. One day, he befriended a young man named "Marcus" who shared his passion for astronomy. They spent many years together, watching the stars and sharing dreams. But Marcus grew old and had grandchildren, while Alvaro remained as young as ever. In their last meeting, a dying Marcus told him, "My friend, I wish I had lived your life. Do you know how much knowledge you possess?" Alvaro smiled bitterly. "Knowledge has a high price, my friend. Its price is loneliness."

Loneliness was his eternal companion. He couldn't love with the same passion again, for he knew the end would be inevitable.