As I get older, it takes longer for the aches and pains to subside.
Wearing out slowly, slower to recover.
My mind is slower to respond, to recall fond memories.
And the lies I have told others and to myself, are harder to tell from the memories of all I’ve done, all I’ve seen, and all I’ve been through.
Stitched together, like a quilt of disparate fabrics.
Burlap. Silk. Cotton. Paper towels.
Tug on it hard enough, and the seams fray, and it all comes apart.
And I am left naked, confused, and tired.
Sitting in the tatters of life.