Wash Away

I scrub and scrub, trying to erase stains gravelled upon my face. Age has defined its mark, solidified a presence in folds and furrows raked over a once-smooth fabric now heralding me as old. These seams line my skin, years claimed my youth from time I hadn't known had passed and disappeared too fast like thieves in the night creeping without warning. I smell that newness born with babes, Oh, how it escapes me, leaving soiled flesh in its wake. I'm alive, still breathing, but it's sighs of old. Vibrancy and youth permeate my spirit until the mirror silently highlights worn flesh, illuminating my face and haunting me like a ghost forever lurking around me. When I peer closer I see more yet less of me, fragments of remaining years shadow daylight gone, like dirt disappearing from a child's face in the rain, innocence turned to the sky, tongue gathering pearls. Age is dark. Quiet. Unobtrusive. Unwelcoming. These common threads live to capture us all.