Growing Old Together

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Growing Old Together





I used to picture the two of us,
walking together and holding hands,
slowly,
no reason to rush,
savoring each moment
of the sweetness of aging comfortably,
like the older couples in the TV ads.

Once I thought we had all the time in the world,
to smell rain in the spring,
and to see the colors of summer blossoms,
and hear the rustling of autumn’s leaves under foot
as we walked those walks together.

In winter, we would sit by the fireplace
and watch our grandchildren
as they trimmed the tree
or played games on the table by the window,
and we’d all watch the snow fall together,
feeling snug inside with the warmth.

But now it seems that those were just dreams.
Our hearts have grown apart.
We don’t hold hands anymore,
and although we walk,
the walks are to get somewhere,
not to savor.
Love doesn’t always mellow,
sweet with the years.
Sometimes it fades
like the ink of old, old love letters,
tucked away and forgotten,
never read,
and cold.



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