If we listen carefully, we hear broken bones rattling inside shells of former selves. Joints, once eager to run toward trouble, scream atrophic displeasure with anything more than apathy. Leathered wrinkles, battled with creams and treatments, wrap withered casings around the hollowness of the aging.
We bought life on borrowed time and the lender requires reimbursement with exorbitant interest. It is not just our living, which has now demanded payment, but our dying which requires dues be paid.
Bodies are aging. Souls are decrepit. Hearts are dying.
What has passed away with the passing of time?
Youth never considered not jumping. Age brought careful consideration. Children plunged into the deep. We drowned in the shallows paralyzed by the fear of unknown depths.
The innocent dreamed of love. The experienced dismiss its hold. The naïve fall in love. The cynic refuses to fall for anything. We point fingers at the frivolous and label ourselves “mature”. We criticize spontaneity and hide behind responsibility.
Age has killed the passion of the canvas, the note, or the word – the heart, the soul, the mind. We contemplate, calculate, evaluate, modify. Lifelessness has come and we have become what we once loathed. We mask our death in the make-believe of painted on faces and dress our corpses in rest in peace materialism.
We have lost life in all our living and stopped doing anything but breathing.
Note: Yesterday, in a moment, in a snapped picture, in a vision of youthful exuberance, William and Marley reminded me what it was like to jump!