Gone are the days of the short skirts and high heels; late night walks down deserted streets like a stray cat. Cold winds making me shiver as I saunter home from a gig with the music still pounding through my veins. Gone are the Friday nights with my girlfriends next to me, eyes bright with laughter and raucous laughs setting boys’ hearts on fire. Memories graze past the early morning hours spent driving around looking for a breakfast stop, hungry for more entertainment and food to sustain tired bodies.
I smile to myself in the dead of night, thinking back to all the crazy things I accomplished in this short lifetime. Warmth surrounds me in a cocoon of love and belonging. My comfy bed clothes me in a wrap far more comfortable than the night sky and open road. Nostalgia for a past life is soon forgotten as I sip my glass of wine and contemplate my next project with relish.
Youth they say is wasted on the young but maturity I feel, is wasted on those dying from nostalgia. Each stage of life has exciting capsules of freedom never explored before and never to be touched again once that age has been passed. If only we embrace each stage with the fervour of adventurers stumbling upon fortunes as each day passes. One challenge after another makes me enjoy my wine far more, each near miss allows me to appreciate my body that is still whole and once I leave this stage and enter the next, I shall be grateful to have lived that long.
Friday nights are the milestones. Our bodies the vehicles we use to travel through the numerous cycles until we cease. Then our Friday nights come to an end. All that’s left are the memories we evoke in others, the warm caresses we leave behind. Soon those too will fade and our existence will be as inconsequential as the paper left to herald we once were, but are no more.