Growing old is a hard thing.
It's a growing panic thats ignited somewhere deep
In the smallest crevice of the heart. The primal desperation to hold on to what you have, what you know.
The pure frantic air that billows up upon the realization
things must change,
These things stay the same
you cannot accept it.
Its because you refuse too
It aches deep within you
Your heart is tearing.
Its the melancholy ache that balls up burrowed in your chest which probes your breaking soul.
The people you love will grow and change.
The circumstances you live will shift and switch
and all that will be left is a bitter memory,
a vivid what-once-was.
And the most painfull part is;
you are so completely and totally in love with what is,
your sweet perception of now.
And you are torn from your people
Say goodbye to your home.
You desperately grasp and strain against the restraints of time.
And all thats left to say is goodbye and farewell.
And clutch dearly to the little things. Let they never be pried from your hands.
With all my love, an ode to the past, may we never distract from the present and never speak of the future, for it can wait.
