So many stories and yet, they all come together as this one thing. One thing that happens to us, it all culminates and unfathomably ropes and tangles and tightens through the lived years.
Where do I see myself in the golden years? I ask myself that often, seems like if we do get rewarded that time, we should be able to spend it like gems and gold coins... very wisely, savor each moment like drinking the elixir of life.
It will have all led to this, these final years of work done, on this planet. Spent on a beach at times and in a snowy mountain cabin more, because I love mountains more than beaches. Staring out at the sun and at the valley, at the ripples of sea water and cascading waterfalls. Breathing in life and breathing out regrets, they don't matter really, the regrets.
Yes, dear Dream, the idea of you has aged well, I crave you in the middle age and I will carry you into the golden years too. My muse, my thought partner, my sounding wall.
You and I both on the porch of that cabin staring into the wilderness, you and I both on that beach sometimes, marveling at the golden sand and ripples of waves and shells, and salty air and aging skin and creaky bones and rheumy eyes and sweet regrets in between, no, it will not matter the oldness, I feel like it will be agelessness more so. to sit on the edge of time, to dive off into the unknown and what comes after.
