she’s aged. her body doesn’t work like it used to. it doesn’t flow freely, moving gracefully across the landing. rather, her steps are small, calculated, and painful. yet, she is determined to maintain her independence. holding on to this and that as she makes her way from one room to the next. washing stray dishes. pouring coffee into a small cup. and oh so carefully balancing herself, and her drink, as she makes her way to her favorite chair. where she places headphones haphazardly on her crown, messing up her grandma gray hair, in order to hear the voices on the tv.
when she lies in bed. her mind meanders to the past. remembering things she thought she had forgotten. faces flash before her eyes, and she wonders where they are. what they’ve been doing. she reflects. thinks of herself, as a young girl. a girl who would run down the hills of los angeles. and back up again. she remembers the young woman she used to be. a beauty, admired. she gently cries. overwhelmed with the memories of her past. memories that flood her aging mind.