I cannot describe the small feeling
Terrified, uncomfortable
When a beloved elderly person’s
Handwriting
Starts to shake
It is particularly painful
Watching them
Watch it happen

“I’m not the girl I used to be,”
said the observant she.

“I was a once perfect white
and now my skin has bore my fight.”

But what she had realized not
Was what the Painter thought.

For what she saw to be an ending
was what He saw to be the beginning.

Exam room.
Air as still as dead,
Then I hear it:
Pencil.
R o l l i n g off the edg
e -
But the person catches it just in time.

I sigh in relief.

But he's out there standing tall,
making a difference
while I'm sitting here, falling short,
staying the same.

But he's far away, far-sighted
and breaking new grounds,
while I'm at arm's length, half-blind
and on the verge of breaking his heart.

And every day he's fulfilling
a bigger purpose.
And come what may, I am only
writing of sad proses.

And he's moving relentlessly,
he's ever-growing.
And I'm staying stuck and dry,
I am simply withering.

From his stares,
I would most likely seem small.
And I think he knows
by now he have won.

With his touch,
I would most likely feel like a little girl.
And I'm trying to grow
So I'll try to go...

He was smooth but not understanding
He was charming but not loyal
He was beautiful but a manipulator    
I knew this would come to and end
I knew I was a fool
He was secure but brought my insecurity
He was strong inside but not loving
He was my first but never mine