Our day will cum//

 

 

Somewhere.

Out there. Where? Wherever you are, you're gonna wake one day and understand.

Strip away the artifice. Stare at the ugly truth that is age.

The age of reason. The age of treason. The age where one day you catch a sideways glance at yourself and it hits you.

Like a hammer. It hits you.

Your life has passed. Some good, some bad, hopefully very little that's indifferent.

Your life has passed and here you are, looking back from the mirror, barely recognising the aged and wrinkled visage that vaguely resembles your... dad... Faaaark!

Then it's gone. Done and dusted.

Nothing but memories now. Memories. No verification. No assurance. Existing only because others remember, or do they?