We are like those leaves, once green seeking out the sun and a rich bounty of rain. The cycle goes carelessly on, as the waning sun departs dejected…. disconsolate. What troubles it’s soul? Little by little the changes appear but the problem is not the end, but the here and now.
Do you know what I mean? Kurt Vonnegut quickly deduced our primal stripes and the Freudian yearnings of yesteryear, where our own dominion seemed assured. Protecting a meager pot of Gold, we are like treasure seekers in a Pawn Shop. Desperate to feel alive we draw paintings on our skin in the vain hope of an extension of some kind. The wind does not abate, the scars are etched like the heart of hope of young lovers on a tree, their destiny uncertain.
We try delaying the onset of Autumn not knowing what leaves might fall. Instead we clutch hope as elusive as water in our hands. The imprint we make depends upon us. Now think about it, just before the wind stops and the leaves turn different shades like rainbows in the forest. Meaning that maturity is not a curse.
Meaning that we, as older adults are not unappealing. We live as we are and if anything we are frank and so is our beauty, like the embrace of a mature mate, our hands fitting like Cinderella’s Slippers.
But many of us close the book assuming the end is rather near and why bother anyhow. The larger question is do we sit at home as the walls consume us or do we relinquish of our false notions and bare our souls to a compatible one. Like Eagles nested upon a towering rock we prevail in peace.
I cannot bring flowers to a deserted road and expect them to flourish. I can’t open your door and treat you like the angel that you want to be. Secure not in the number of rooms and a legacy of cash, but the heart-warming togetherness of a single one undivided. Or a Thanksgiving Dinner, when afterward we muse about the dinner but pine for each other.
So, is this you? Are you over 50 and not trying to over deliver? Do you want what you think is missing? I am here, in my late 50s, a songbird flapping my wings to garner your attention. Steadfastly I crave to know you. Plump is cool and wrinkles not a curse because the Princess and the Pea are just fairly tales like skinny waifs and bulimia. Beauty lies deep within our soul and the travesty is not to share it. With you my destiny.
I am not an angel but I will do. The measure of this man is counted as much but the nails I have driven and the tears shed silently behind a wall of frosted glass.
Romance is not dead and passion burns until we let the pilot light go on it’s way. We still have moments to share and places to be, together. So, if you are middle-aged and want a person who is relatively nice and as a generous as I can be, then I am that guy.