Rantglass - because that's how things are.


White menace.

Numerous sunsets lost and the occasional few dinners missed; they make one very tired old soul, ill and creaking to the bone.

These little lines of disconnect, they spell sorry and neglect. Like the crispy new pages of a newly-launched tabloid losing its shine after just one day out in the sun, we quickly wither at the face of adversity and hardship, losing our hard-earned deposits upfront.

We may fall out of love, ditching those hardy sneakers that have been to five out of the seven continents for a spanking new pair of designer stilettos; or fall out of favour, losing a dear childhood friend from the innocent yesteryears to the trials and tribulations of adulthood.

But we do not age overnight, just to shriek at the sight of yet another strand of grey hair found the next morning, or to berate ourselves for again forgetting to pick up a carton of milk on the way home from work.

We have also grown out of ourselves, to become increasingly detached from whom we once were.

Maybe it is evolution; others may call it dissolution. And before long, we will become strangers to our own pasts, and there may not be any more left of us to leave to the world that we used to call home.

Details of this entry.Tuesday, January 14, 2014, filed under Musings.
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