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“I am convinced that most people do not grow up...We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias. ”—Maya Angelou
THE LUCKY GROW OLD
One day, if we are lucky, we will look up
from our breakfast cereal and realize
our lives have slowly thinned and lengthened
like dough rolled under our fingers.
Time: that coiling snake. Time: the silent train.
We count the boxcars as it passes us by
and this makes us feel as though
we understand it. One day, if we are lucky,
our skin will emulate hammocks
and find new ways to sway and sag.
Our voices will dry up and sour like wells.
I hope you will still sing to me then.
I hope we find our way together
across this knotted forest of Time:
that strange witness. Time: the faceless
map—I know where I am going but
don’t know what it looks like. One day,
our love will shed its skin for the hundredth
time and look upon each other new
like children. Our lovemaking will be
a royal dance, a séance of the tired,
a ceremony of seasons, constantly reborn
only to wither in your arms.
- Sierra DeMulder
Love Me When We're OldOne Hello World
“I know that someday you will be happy, and even if it’s not with me. But there’s a little piece of me that hopes that you’ll be happy with me, old.”
I’m hoping to grow old and be happy with somebody too. I think most of us hold out hope for that. Thanks for calling.