Awkwardness. The many possibilities of stumbling in a ditch when you are least aware of it. Feet in concrete. When it will be an issue. An unexpected virginal quality uncovered at that very worst of times. Exposed, but deciding very quickly that it might be better to say no more. Kindness being so very hard when the truth is that silence seems so judgmental. All one can offer is that the donuts back when were better when you were young. That old temple sacrosanct to any competing view. Beautiful or innocent or not! Later that night afterwards in the holy space of ones dreams the galvanized pipe was sawed through. The princess thrown over in a decidedly open betrayal. The trapdoor reset and wondering if one should need to keep up the appearance of innocence by treading upon it so publicly unawares. Bleeding from the gums! The donuts from today simply don’t taste as good. One’s byte most definitely less interesting than its accompanying pathetic bark. The world gets more dismal with every successive day. Nature withdrawn bit by bit. Too overblown. Plastic bark and particle board. This mental music plays too loud for someone so old that is no longer able to hear. The province of the young no longer opened to the awkwardness of age. One thing you have to remember at this point, once you’ve sold it off you’re no longer allowed to tread back in!
The Confusion of Advancing Past One’s Age