24 Feb

I have reached a point where most people begin to consider that life is getting shorter.  And they are getting older.  Where the time remaining begins to amass with all that has gone before.  Where even the tiniest wrinkle is a sign that the end is not as far off as it used to be.  And as if the wrinkles alone weren’t enough to scare you, every single wasted moment seems one less reason to smile. 

And then I remember to breathe. 

Because maybe the key is to stop acting the role.
To never get old. 
To allow happiness and beauty into even the darkest moments. 
To give yourself permission to simply be.
And maybe not just on those special days, but the ones in between, too.

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