Monday, February 6, 2017

I Am Not Old

Yesterday was my birthday. I didn't really celebrate the day, it just sort of came and went like any other day. Little by little I am getting old. I don't feel old. I don't dwell on my age or get depressed about it,  but I wish I could be as exuberant as the woman who wrote the following poem.

I Am Not Old
by Samantha Reynolds

I am not old, she said,
I am rare.
I am the standing ovation
at the end of the play.
I am the retrospective
of my life as art.
I am the hours
connected like dots
into good sense.
I am the fullness
of existing.
You think I am waiting to die…
but I am waiting to be found.
I am a treasure.
I am a map.
And these wrinkles are
imprints of my journey.
Ask me anything.

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