I’ve been thinking a lot lately.

About what I want with my life. What ending.

About myself as an older woman. Scared of my own reflection.

Wrinkles defined. Vision degenerated. Hair and skin white as snow.

Not much time left.

Widowed. On a cold bench in Central Park.

Watching. Observing,

 The younger generation pass me by.

The ones that are our age now.

Will I gaze at their prances.

Jealous. They have all the time in the world.

Or will I be proud of their sashay.


Smiling. Every contentment for my own life past.



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