getting older

I once had words that sounded beautiful.
I think I wanted
to make this sound nicer,
to make my thoughts
feel richer and stronger.
But this isn’t something
that really needs it,
even though it often comes to mind.
Now it’s midday
and I feel like taking a nap.
My eyes
are watering because I’m tired,
and my head starts to nod
Part of me says
that I should rest.
But I’m still here
thinking about getting older
about time,
and everything that’s happened since we
last met,
about the gray hairs
you have now
and my own baldness.
I think about wrinkles.
Mine come from life, from
living hard,
from all the trials I’ve faced.
And yours come from living
just living, the kind that feels boring,
growing older without learning much.
You see,
your corner office
has drained you.
The shell was still there
but the life you chose took something from you.
The love you talked about
wasn’t really love,
it didn’t give you what you needed
the way real love would.
The hands that would have
held yours through every hard time
are rough now with age,
and now they’re holding
someone else’s hands.
I’ll rest soon.
These thoughts come to me often,
usually right before I nap,
when my mind and heart
are tired and
start to think about getting older,
about time, and about the life
that I once wanted to share with you.