Remember that song? From "The Sound of Music"?
We are growing old. We’ve always been growing old and we’ll always continue to do so. But this time it’s different.
I’m no longer 21 and soon I’ll no longer be 22. At 21 people mistook me for 17, now they mistake me for 20. I am afraid of my age.
I crossed the point where my bone structure is no longer that of a little girl. It shows on my face and I don’t like it, because next stop is wrinkles. I already have a good number of silver hairs. No, they’re not white, they’re silver and they shine. Haven’t noticed them before due to excessive dying: purple, blue, more blue and more blue. I think I’ll give my hair a break. But do you think black would look good? Though I’d have brown eyebrows.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, I guess.
And no, I’m not brooding, it was just a thought.