I remember a time when time was not an enemy. It was a neutral friend and it held my physique together better than gravity and food…food knew where to go and not sit and develop into something else.
I remember a time when I thought myself immortal and will remain Venus forever under the daystar and night..
I remember a time when I fancied if I sang loud enough to the moon from my bunkbed and ask to be whisked away to it and enter another world, that it would happen-rather than by me going mentally insane or joining NASA.
Then time left me.
It left gravity to me as an ornery asociate, leaving my backside bigger than it was years ago, and each food I crave and eat, ultimately makes a spot ANYWHERE. I am not immortal. Each year brings me closer to a higher twenty something and now I am at the last cargo called 20. Singing loud and praying hard enough did not alleviate pains and frugal living.
However I do have something and it is more powerful than any diet or dreams of running the world.
I have imagination and can live a thousand times in my books.
Do you write stories?