thinking a lot about growing older these days.
not wiser, just older. older, with lesser options, more stability. older, with more self knowledge, and self doubt. older, with plenty of mistakes behind me. and plenty of sunshine days.
must be the monsoons that sets sepia tinted photographs to life again. green and grey all together.
thinking of all the firsts i leave behind.
heartache. rebellion. first love. eternal hope. doubt. anger.
that first time the silence in a film spoke to me and left me speechless. nights of talking to the moon up on the terrace. finding as yet hidden parts to myself in songs. hiding behind books in school and later college.
and carrying that little person that i was inside of me. that person who seems to have stayed there, somewhere in the past.
thinking about people who are young today, and looking forward to growing older, and wiser.
i’m envious.
age is all in the mind, no.
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not sure if older is wiser. some lose their innocence with experience. some stay where they were and some move on leaving behind debris. to have innocence after all the experiences that life has to offer at all points in time – that’s a task, isn’t it?
and that’s someone I’d love to know
most times, it’s a matter of the mind, but there are situations, where the sheer physical inability to do something forces the mind to grow old, and that is so violent a realisation
ah! my eyes are flooded…
‘and carrying that little person that i was inside of me. that person who seems to have stayed there, somewhere in the past’
i’m aging and i hate it… i wish i could just stop time…
its now that i’m getting to know myself…
bit of the world… bit of what i want…
and all this is going to be so short…
astral..
you don’t think some part stays innocent inside us all. we might choose to not see it. but..
gudu..
there’s an old man who comes to the garden where i sometimes go for a walk. he must be nearing seventy, and he runs everyday.
runs, takes a break and then walks and runs some more. he’s there, at it for almost an hour. i get tired and retire, he keeps running. he is such an inspiration.
v..
Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
(haiku by matsuo basho)
@annui sometimes there is of course – only the eys are clouded or blind or cannot see anymore.