I Believe… [Age is Just a Number That Means You're Old]
…that when you say "Age is just a number" my feet and lower back wanna sock you repeatedly in the junk until you acknowledge that age is decay and decay is the ever approaching sound of mortality. Maybe lose the "just." "Age is a number" is more true and less damning of the fact I'm wearing bifocals.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?