Something aged is worth looking into. People become wiser with age, cheese and wines become better. The aged are the expeirenced and the experienced are wiser and the wise is useful to the young.
slowly age ate away at my bones draining my life form my body making me and emty shell on nothinness that had nothing left to live for , i was waiting for death to take my last breath form me
When I was ready to lay down and die, I heard a trumpet off in the distance. Flashy, sassy, and brassy, she wah-wah’d a melodic swan song – distant and hazy – an aged memory floated my way -“…I, I will survive…”
and i realize that we have aged
sitting next to the fire
you still look at me as if im the source of your warmth
not the fire and i still look at you like you’re out of your mind
because you must be
why else would you be here
with me
aged, tired, and wrinkled
The woman’s skin was thin–like translucent vellum. How long ago was it that her veins were barely visible beneath? How long since the muscles in her hand filled out the spaces between her finger bones, flexing unnoticed beneath smoother, tanned, and melanin-rich skin as they crumbled the aged cheese on her plate? When did her cuticles become so irregular-looking and her joints grow bulbous and arthritic? Did her wrist always have that particular protruding bone? The wrinkles on the backs of her hands folded like so much fabric, looking like the ridges and valleys on one of those 3D plastic terrain maps they have in museums, especially when she held them up to her myopic eyes. Even her palms were unfamiliar. The creases there were records of too-long baths and swimming lessons, scratches and cuts long forgotten, old eczema bouts, sweaty first-date hands, talcum powdered baby bottoms, and 80 years of labor. Her palms looked like so much paper crumpled and smoothed, crumpled and smoothed–which ones were the life and love lines again? Did she ever know?
She wasn’t losing weight the way she used to, and her skin was starting to break out and not bounce back like it did back then. She goes through her episodes, and yet, she keeps thinking about her past self and how “easy” it was to return to “normal,” that if she just applied herself it would happen.
She cleared her throat and nodded her head in the general direction of a woman looking for a seat. He craned his neck. “What?”
“That’s Cynthia.”
“No, it can’t be.”
“It’s been 15 years, Ryan, she doesn’t look at all the same, but that’s her. Watch her walk.”
“This wine,” murmured Bartholomew. “It hasn’t aged well.” And to prove his point, he emptied his entire glass onto the grass beneath his feet, the red spreading angrily among the green, staining everything, ultimately, purple.
The owner of the winery grew equally as purple in the face, and I was left no choice but to drag Barty out by the arm and chastise him in the parking lot.
For the old and aged, I will like to give comfort and hope. A warm place to lay their head, and warmm hands to grip their fingers as they transition to the world beyond
Something aged is worth looking into. People become wiser with age, cheese and wines become better. The aged are the expeirenced and the experienced are wiser and the wise is useful to the young.
I am an aged old man. I hate children who come over to my house. Don’t come over.
slowly age ate away at my bones draining my life form my body making me and emty shell on nothinness that had nothing left to live for , i was waiting for death to take my last breath form me
When I was ready to lay down and die, I heard a trumpet off in the distance. Flashy, sassy, and brassy, she wah-wah’d a melodic swan song – distant and hazy – an aged memory floated my way -“…I, I will survive…”
and i realize that we have aged
sitting next to the fire
you still look at me as if im the source of your warmth
not the fire and i still look at you like you’re out of your mind
because you must be
why else would you be here
with me
aged, tired, and wrinkled
The woman’s skin was thin–like translucent vellum. How long ago was it that her veins were barely visible beneath? How long since the muscles in her hand filled out the spaces between her finger bones, flexing unnoticed beneath smoother, tanned, and melanin-rich skin as they crumbled the aged cheese on her plate? When did her cuticles become so irregular-looking and her joints grow bulbous and arthritic? Did her wrist always have that particular protruding bone? The wrinkles on the backs of her hands folded like so much fabric, looking like the ridges and valleys on one of those 3D plastic terrain maps they have in museums, especially when she held them up to her myopic eyes. Even her palms were unfamiliar. The creases there were records of too-long baths and swimming lessons, scratches and cuts long forgotten, old eczema bouts, sweaty first-date hands, talcum powdered baby bottoms, and 80 years of labor. Her palms looked like so much paper crumpled and smoothed, crumpled and smoothed–which ones were the life and love lines again? Did she ever know?
She was definitely getting older.
She wasn’t losing weight the way she used to, and her skin was starting to break out and not bounce back like it did back then. She goes through her episodes, and yet, she keeps thinking about her past self and how “easy” it was to return to “normal,” that if she just applied herself it would happen.
Back when she was young.
And thought she knew what love was.
marge died in the ocean and she was aged 26
aged cheese is when the chesse is old, and prolby going bad.
All the time I’ve screw of futere, I dont know the reason, but I screw!
She cleared her throat and nodded her head in the general direction of a woman looking for a seat. He craned his neck. “What?”
“That’s Cynthia.”
“No, it can’t be.”
“It’s been 15 years, Ryan, she doesn’t look at all the same, but that’s her. Watch her walk.”
“This wine,” murmured Bartholomew. “It hasn’t aged well.” And to prove his point, he emptied his entire glass onto the grass beneath his feet, the red spreading angrily among the green, staining everything, ultimately, purple.
The owner of the winery grew equally as purple in the face, and I was left no choice but to drag Barty out by the arm and chastise him in the parking lot.
For the old and aged, I will like to give comfort and hope. A warm place to lay their head, and warmm hands to grip their fingers as they transition to the world beyond