. . . in time. Developin' more laugh lines. Here, there, everywhere. Gravity’s dispersing flesh—downward. No matter how many hours are put in at the gym or walking/running outside, skin no longer manages to remain taut when certain age milestones are met.
Yesterday I was 10. Laughing. Running. Smacking Peter for stealing my bike and being silly.
Yesterday I was 20. Laughing. Dancing. Drinking wine. Smacking Val for insisting we party until sunrise. Smacking myself for having imbibed a little too much and not getting enough sleep.
Yesterday I was 30. Sad. Feeling old. Drinking to numb the reality that youth was slipping away. Smacking my partner for not understanding.
Yesterday I was 40. Laughing. Dancing. Drinking wine. What was so bad about getting older . . . better and wiser?
Yesterday I was—does it really matter? Whether 20 or 40 or 95, I’ll be forever 18 in my head and heart. Youth doesn’t die. It stays with you eternally, if you allow it. I do. This gal’s going to be forever young.