Aches and pains

It was raining again. The rain made his bones hurt. His joints swelled, and the bones ground together. Walking hurt, moving hurt, hell even breathing hurt sometimes.
Rain or no rain, his heart hurt. It had hurt for so long that it had become part of him. He couldn't imagine life without the constant pain reminding him of what he lost. He hated the rain. Ironic that he lived in such a rainy place.
He slowly picked up the bottle of ibuprofen. His hands hurt, they also shook slightly. He gazed at the wrinkled, sun spotted hand before him. The skin frail and hanging away from the bone. He had left youth long behind. The hands were of a man who had seen too many harsh winters and sweated through too many of a summer.
They were the hands that had held lovers hands in their own, caressed many a small of a back, held countless children, and yet only have known sorrow. He had accomplished so many things with these hands only to find them useless in accomplishing the one thing he desired. They couldn't keep her with him. They couldn't hold her back. His hands, his love, himself, they just weren't enough for her.
He could feel the tears leaking down his face. His skin was that of parchment, he could almost feel it cracking from the weight of the sweat.
He laid his heart at her feet, and she ground it into dust. And although this was all ancient history, he had nothing left in his old age but regret. He had never expected to live this long, he thought would have died years ago in the 40's. But he survived. He survived the wars, the purges and everything else. He had survived, but of her he never learned. Did she survive, did she escape, did she miss him? They were the questions that burned his soul.
The rain was gushing now, a torrential downpour. The ibuprofen was kicking in and his joints were loosening up. Soon he would be able to attain a resemblance of his former self. But for now, he just silently wept. As he did every time he thought of her.