I would have loved to grow old with you.
Yet here I stand, having made my way without you.
Looking back, I see all those years relatively empty,
filled only with what life tossed my way.
I won’t say I never smiled or found joy in fleeting moments
or found success and satisfaction in many ways.
I tried to make the best of it and sometimes succeeded.
Moments came, and moments slipped silently by.
Minutes stacked upon minutes, growing into hours,
then days, years—sometimes speeding by in a blur,
other times crawling, each second a weight,
with time ticking cruelly through endless nights.
But still, it has been a good life, a good long one.
Half of my life passed without you by my side,
though never without you in my thoughts,
and in the dreams that came fitful and fleeting.
No, it wasn’t an obsession—I’m not that way,
you knew me better than that, better than anyone.
While I made the best of what I had, of what life presented,
I couldn’t help but feel the limits of your absence—
how the best of life without you had such a low ceiling.
But there’s no need to dwell on that now.
It’s just one of those days, one of those times,
when the years sit heavy on my shoulders,
when the fact of growing old settles in once again.
I face the sparse years ahead and know I’ll make do,
I’ll make the best of it, as I always have.
But oh, how I would have loved to grow old with you.
Michael Mathews
September 10, 2024
5:24 PM
Near a place where I hear rumors of home.
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