Old woman,
you shuffle past the bus stop,
coat dragging like the years you’ve worn,
eyes clouded,
face soft like pages turned a thousand times
and almost forgotten.

You walk like you’ve been walking
your whole life,
through the noise,
through the quiet,
through the people who left
and the ones who never came.

And me?

I just sit here.
Watching.
Like a ghost who hasn’t even died yet.

Because I don’t think I’ll make it there.
To where you are.
To where your bones ache but
your breath still rises.
To where your silence means survival.

I don’t think I’ll ever grow old.
Not like you.
Not like anyone.

They say ”you’re young, you’ve got time,”
but time feels like a hallway I can’t find the end of.
Like a clock with no hands,
ticking in a room no one else hears.

My days are…
blurry.

Tight in the chest.
Heavy in the head.
Like I’m dragging a life behind me
that I never asked for.
Like I’m underwater
but smiling at everyone above the surface
so they won’t ask
if I’m drowning.

Old woman,
how did you do it?
How did you live long enough
to forget some of the pain?
To bury people,
and still get up to buy bread
and feed birds
and water plants that will outlive you?

I can’t even imagine next week.
Let alone
next decade.
Let alone
wrinkles and soft sweaters
and stories that begin with
”When I was your age..”

I’m scared that I won’t get that far.
And part of me doesn’t care.

Is that awful?

Some days I hope I disappear quietly.
Without the drama.
Without the note.
Just.. a light going out
that no one noticed was flickering.

But you,
you’re still here.
And I don’t know if that’s strength
or just what happens
when you forget how to quit.

Old woman,
you’re not my grandmother.
You’re not anyone I know.
But watching you
makes me ache
for a future I don’t believe belongs to me.

I don’t want pity.
I don’t want advice.
I want to feel something that tells me
I might still be becoming
instead of slowly unraveling.

So I sit here.
And I watch you.
And for a moment,
just a moment
I imagine
that maybe
somehow
I’ll last long enough
to forget how much this hurts.

That maybe one day,
someone will watch me,
and wonder how I made it.

You have to look back

now and then to catch a glimpse --


of where you're going.

Finally, I’ve made it
Thirteen years now graduated
But with all the pain I’ve seen
What the hell does it all mean?

At last I’ve crossed the line
It’s crazy how fast the time flies
It’s a joyous day, that’s what it seems
But what the hell does it all mean?

Raise your glass, let’s make a toast
To all the pain and dread we boast
During these years I should’ve dreamed
And figured out what it all means

we never said goodbye
because we thought
we never had to
and one day
we may think right

(to the one that ticks backwards)

Leaving the future
in a locked
wooden
chest,—
You dive into
the memories;
Deep;
Dark.
You seek only
birth.
But why?
Why
do you
run away from
death?

Down the hall
Back and to the right
Past a broken neon sign
Through an unlocked door
Then down four flights
A hole in the wall
In a room on the left
Follow it down
Through dirt and rock
After more than a while
You'll see a faint light
A oil lamp hanging
Kept by those who travel
So bring some won't you
The oil that is
Not much further past
You'll  find what you seek
The city beneath the city
The world and the way
That we abandoned long ago
The past they made us forget
And the future that might still be