Forever

We’re not supposed to be this way. Us 60 year olds. When I was a teen. Say- 17? Maybe younger. When they called people like me “angsty” or “quirky.” But I could still smile. That kind of dry smile, that pulled my lips tight. Now, at 60, I have wrinkles from that. Wrinkles which feel like scars. I have gray hair, that I still play with anxiously. I go to my favorite cafe. I order a coffee to go- same as always. I’m going to the book club, I say. But really, I’m seeing that new therapist. As my old one retired… She’s a pro, they say. But still it bugs me… That she’s younger than me.