the years of existence accumulate like foliage during autumn. each year moves with the collective air driven into and out of the lungs until it falls from fingertips, and it noiselessly kisses the ground of memory, settling there. meanwhile, bodies are like barks peeling off, the insides slowly deteriorating, its branches withering, withering some more until it can't anymore. wrinkles crawl out from the corners of the eyes, the base of the neck, the back of the hand while the hair thins and pales into threads of silver. the heart softly weakens; youth has come and gone. ageing is hard and unavoidable. but the pupils still gleam at the small deeds, glimpses, and recollections of beauty.
Strangers in Good Company…