Through the continuum of time, there be me remembered by the son and daughter left behind.

The I that is me today is about past adversity and depressive events. I exist within these indelible memories of which the totality is like an effusive rhapsody. Though I may try to mitigate these experiences, I stand with failure. Considering my reflection in the mirror, I see an old woman. Brought to heart from the reflection is a raw sensitivity to a substantial loss. Albeit, this loss has yet to come to fruition, I am cognizant of its finality.

As time separates generations the intimate nature of my opinion on life will not be understood by the youthful. Words will not suffice to express the entanglement of life with death but are where my sentiments about love and loss reside.

Selfishly, I want to remain in the audience and forever bear witness to the development of my children’s lives as they journey over roads not yet named to arrive at destinations not yet created. The inevitability of my non-existence elicits profound emotions and this is where I find the cruelty in life itself.

This unavoidable awareness that my story will come to end spreads across the blank pages that turn over each morning. Created within set tabs and margins are unedited pages from the past. In hindsight, I wish there had been more of this and less of that. Come the day I face my maker, should he exist, I shall demand a refund for this life lived to die for.


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