I feel I am getting old.
Growing old; much older, much too fast.
As if that one minute that just passed, had taken a toll worth ten years on my spirit, my soul.
Like such things are too trivial & frivolous to even matter anymore, what more to even think about, dwell upon or create fusses over.
Such issues which feel too childish & immature all at once,
all of a sudden.
It’s no longer about the candles, the cakes, the presents, the birthdays.
It’s about the experiences you discover, the wears & tears of life that slow you down; what starts as a ripple, only to become a tidal wave and washing you over.
I am growing tired; exhausted, trying to keep up.
There are better things to think about.
More important things worth the time harping over.
More of your self to give, more of your self to sell.
I fear growing old.
I fear growing old, alone, to be more precise.