Before She Becomes a Memory

Some truths only show up after collagen production slows.

the days are short.
the years—
soft at the edges.

time moves differently now.
forgets where it’s going.
doubles back.
lingers in corners
like it left something behind.

I’ve stopped asking
what day it is.
I trust the shadows.
I know the light,
outlining each wrinkle—
in time,
my face.

sometimes,
the sun rises
and I swear
it’s already setting.

— aging

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I’ve been going through old photos, trying to write about the past.
And I remember thinking I wasn’t a very attractive kid.

Which… what a ridiculous thing to worry about as a kid.

Things are always changing.
I should’ve been too busy enjoying the boundless energy, the limitless collagen, the limber joints, the tight skin, and invisible pores.

Aging isn’t fair—
because I like my brain more and more every birthday.
More lights turn on.
I actually have a past to learn from.
My mental energy? Off the charts.

But I feel each passing year a little harder than the last.

And I look back at those photos and wish I could spend the day with that girl.
What does her laugh sound like?
Better yet—
what makes her laugh?

Where does she want to go?
What does she want to see?

I’d take her everywhere she wanted.
Just to learn more about her.
To have one more afternoon in her presence.

I’d have her stare in the mirror and admire her reflection.
I’d tell her she’s more than her appearance—
and also that she’s so stinking cute.

I’d tell her not to stress so much about what other people think.
To follow her spark.
To let it ignite her passions.

I’d tell her to run and jump and play and be silly and have fun and make memories.
To cherish each moment with the present version of herself.
Because time is a thief in so many ways.

And now, I think about my 80-year-old self.
What she’ll think when she looks at photos of me today.
How she’d want me to enjoy this maturing face
before age erases it.
And also that I'm so stinking cute!

How she’d want me to run and jump and play and be silly and make memories.
To cherish each moment with the present version of myself.
Because time is a thief in so many ways.

So maybe I’ll take a little longer with the mirror this morning.
And spend the afternoon with this woman.

Memorizing her laugh.
What makes her laugh.

Where does she want to go?
What does she want to see?

I think I’ll find out.
Before she becomes a memory, too.

---

Maybe it’s just me, but time flies.
And I don’t want to find myself simply existing from one day to the next.

I want to remember the moments, savor the years.

Enjoy the company of my 35-year-old self (and all the other selves in there) before I find myself longing to remember her laugh, too.

Is this middle age? Or is it part of being a millennial, a generation currently labeled as “the most nostalgic?”
I hope it’s not “middle age.”

I don’t like to think of myself that way.
Mostly because I like truth, and I have no idea if it’s accurate or not.
I don’t want to live my life like I only have half of it left if I’m actually going to live to 90+.

But also, I could die tomorrow.
And in that case, I was middle-aged my senior year of high school.
…feels more accurate.

The crux of the issue is that I spent a good 20 years planning my death-by-suicide.
And then I decided to live, but spent the next ten or so questioning my sanity behind that decision.
I’ve only now, in the grand ole 30s-era, started to enjoy life.
Not the political or social climate, of course. Or economy. Or even some people.

But I like myself.
The way my brain works.
What it comes up with at 3pm on a Tuesday.

Although, right now it’s Friday morning, and I desperately need to be planning some fun for the afternoon.
Speaking of fun (watch this segway)…

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Here are some splishy splashy photos starring Mr. Fun himself.

If it’s been a while since you last treated yourself to some time with you and yourself, I vote you do that today. Who knows what you’ll have to say about it!

love you, mean it.
k bye.

.mg

P.S. Was this an appropriate amount of poetry for a “sprinkle?” Or did you feel dunked?