i’m getting older.
i can feel it. and i can see it when i look in the mirror. my eyes seem to be getting smaller and deeper while my cheeks get larger. my skin is dry, always dry. and my chin is heading south. i’ve noticed the skin on my neck is loosening and my hands. my hands, if you could only see. they are old, dry, cracked, wrinkled, and worn. not to mention the inherited arthritis in my thumbs and hips.
it’s a strange thing, this aging. my spirit feels both youthful, like that of a teenager discovering the joys of life, and old, like that of a 90 year old woman resting in all the love she’s known. i suppose this is more of my feeling in between. not old enough yet to carry my years with grace, but not young anymore with the energy and the youthful face. i’m in between. i’m almost 34.
i’m hesitant to love getting older, but deeply know that i want more of it. i want years. and years. and years. i want to grow old with john. for us to have a family. for us to be fun parents and lovers. i want to always be an artist, inspiring and youthful and a giver of great advice to the younger creatives of the world (like friend judy wise). i want to always have my spirit in tact, no matter the trials + heartbreaks that i know are ahead. i want to keep my friends, always. and to celebrate and to cry with them through the years. i want to wear my heart on my sleeve. and tell the truth and to be vulnerable, even when i’m 70. i really just want the years. all of them.
i want to grow old.