Senescence

from living

in the moment,

and being right

in the middle

of it all

to staring

at dried paint

getting drier,

chipping off,

from making

paper boats

when it rained,

and paper planes

when it did not

to never

setting off,

from wanting

to be someone,

to mean something,

to not being

here at all;

we let a heart

believe it is past

its prime,

we let a heart

die way before

its time.

©Aaysid

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins”
T.S. Eliot

Featured image from Pexels