Some reckon their age by years,
Some measure their life by art;
But some tell their days by the flow of their tears
And their lives by the moans of their hearts.
- Abram Joseph Ryan
Once I had both: money and youth. Who could ask for more? People loved me. I was happy. I got all the attention. My youth was my salvation, my excuse to every mistake and misapprehension. My money was both my steerer and my stirrer. I believe I could almost do anything, except thinking now, I never thought I would be of this age. To sit and think of the past. Solitude is a nice company. It never asks.
I had all the creases on my face to prove such experience. This permanent crooked smile to prove what I have learned... (-excerpt from some blabber I am writing. about aging. being a woman. solitude. and all the existential stuff)
What I am 20 years from now is already embedded in my head. It's nice to be the sole bearer of this image. No one knows. Sometimes I would smile. But the overcast is simply hard to put aside. I guess it's bound to happen especially when you're adding a year to your age.