You grow old, they told me, you are no longer you, you become distant, sad and lonely.
I didn't answer...
I don't get old, I get wise.
I stopped being what others like me to become, but what I like to be.
I stopped seeking the acceptance of others and accepted myself.
I have left behind the lying mirrors that deceive mercilessly.
- No, I'm not getting old.
I just become more selective with places, people, customs and ideologies.
I have let go of attachments, unnecessary pain, toxic people, sick souls and rotten hearts... bitterness and unhappiness are not for me, I release them for my health.
I'm ditching party nights for learning and embracing insomnia.
I stopped living stories and started writing them, I threw aside the imposed stereotypes.
I no longer carry eyeshadow in my bag, now I have a book that beautifies my mind.
I exchanged wine glasses for coffee cups, forgot to idealize life and started living it.
- No, I'm not getting old.
I carry freshness in my soul, innocence in my heart, and it discovers me daily.
I have in my hands the tenderness of a cocoon that, when opened, will spread its wings to other places unreachable for those who seek only the frivolity of the material.
I have that charming smile on my face when I observe the simplicity of nature.
I carry in my ears the chirping of the birds that delight me and accompany the walk.
- No, I'm not getting old.
I become selective, betting my time on the intangible, rewriting the story I've been told, rediscovering worlds, saving those old books I've forgotten half open.
I'm becoming more cautious, I've stopped the outbursts that teach me nothing, I'm learning to talk about transcendent things, I'm learning to cultivate knowledge, plant ideals and falsify my destiny.
That lady I saw her this morning in Inverell, she was quietly singing to herself as she walked along towards me, and politely said hello to me, I was courteous, said hello to her and wish her to have a great day. She is homeless but happy.
