Never enough time.
Being the youngest of four I always thought
I was the furthest from all the changes that come with age.
I calculated my youth by all the milestones I had yet to reach.
Now I find myself on the precipice of something new.
Another change I don’t look forward to.
A slower mind
A slower body
A fine line or three
A head of graying hair
A set of lower hanging tits
The dread is building as I charge forward full force with my heels dug into the ground
An inevitable fate I know we all must face.
Yet I find it difficult to accept
Knowing that everyday it creeps closer, and there’s jack shit I can do about it.
Often staring into the dark fighting the break of dawn.
To what end?
A day closer to that fate?
Time that has no intention of slowing for me.
It won’t give back what it has taken.
To grow old is a Blessing.
Is what old people say to make up for the shitty hand they’ve been dealt,
As bones begin their decay, faulty hearts unnaturally flutter, and strength dwindles.
At least that is all I can see right now.
Perhaps, that too will change.
I thought I had more time.