Growing old. It's like nothing else. My memory is failing me, and so are my eyes. When I was younger, back in the days, I used to vow to myself I would never forget how it is to be a child, and that I never would ever ever grow out of being excited about life. Well, things changed. Bad, adult happenings like boyfriends and bitches took place. The eager, little boy became a big, fat slob with a temper. I forget those games we played in the mud like Land Land and Coconut, Please. I even forget people, something I scorned and mocked others for doing. Old growing up places are like ever so many postcards, which awaken memories only when viewed. Those excursions, picnics to the beach, the BBQs, the countless, countless lunches under the trees with old best friends, all barely remembered, and the emotions associated with them long gone. Time is ceaseless, unforgiving, pityless, a cruel monster. He takes away our fond rememberances and leaves the scars in our hearts as fresh as a dip in a freezing pond. But you cannot fight him. He will not let you go. He will wash over your grave and sweep the sands over it till the earth remembers you no more. We are defeated before we were born, stricken in the womb, and our walk here is counted out by the second. Let go, we have already lost.
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