mry writes

*a brainfart*

My hair is the grey of ancients, of high-flung clouds, of the depths of a diamond. My face is old; withered, wrinkled, furrowed. My mind is sharp, full, forgetful.

I see less than I did, and more than I did. I feel the universe thrumming through me; ancient stardust fueling me for my short transit through existence.

When I am gone I will be gone. I will linger until I am forgotten; I will dissipate into the earth and sky. I will miss love.