May these poems serve as companions on your own journey, offering glimpses of light in the darkest of nights, and reminding you that even in the depths of despair, there is always hope. For in the poetry of life, we find solace, understanding, and t...
Sometimes it catches me— this feeling of age, not in my birthdays, not in the ritual counting of years, but in the quiet moments, the pause between steps, the silence after laughter fades.
It's there in the soft sigh of pages turning slower than before, each word heavier, more laden A with meaning or perhaps memory, echoes of first times, of youthful certainty now blurred at the edges.
I feel it in the weight of a grocery bag, a little heavier than I recall, in the texture of a key, cooler and more solemn in my grip. The mirror whispers it too, with its honest gaze, reflecting not just a face, but a lifetime's collage of faces, each one a chapter, each one me, but different.
The stairs creak sympathetically underfoot as if they too understand the gravity of years, the labor of lifting, not just one's body, but also one's spirits up each tread.
My hands— they know more than I do, etched with lines like a map to places only they remember, grasping things with a caution born of both respect and reluctance, familiar yet foreign with each new ache.
Even laughter has a depth, a resonance that wasn't there before, as if each chuckle stirs up dust from the corners of my youthful follies, mixing mirth with a tinge of melancholy, for all that has passed, for all that has paused.
But in this aging, there is also a peculiar grace, a softer vision that forgives both broken promises and broken dishes, that cherishes a pause, finds poetry in the quiet, and wisdom in the wear.
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