When I get older,
I will carry the weight of years like a cloak,
woven with threads of memory, love, and loss.
Each wrinkle will be a story,
each scar a testament to battles fought,
some won, some lost,
but all endured.
When I get older,
I will walk slower, not out of weakness,
but to savor the moments I once rushed past—
the morning light filtering through leaves,
the laughter of children in the distance,
the simple grace of being here, alive, still breathing.
When I get older,
I will hold fewer grudges,
for time has a way of softening edges,
of turning anger into understanding,
and regret into wisdom.
What once felt unbearable
will seem smaller in the vastness of what remains.
When I...