Why do hurt the ones we love? And then crawl back to them.
Ignomnious, this defeat is.
She was fiercely independent. Her life had been lived on her terms, with her rules and with people she chose. Always. And if she did not choose them, she let them go. Her heart was made of stone and she was proud of it. She was her own person. No additions required.
And then she grew old. And with age comes a little insecurity. She was no longer sure of her ‘charms’.
Yes, her smile still had that flirtatiousness, and her figure was not that bad yet, and she could hold her own in a conversation. Yes. There was everything, which had been. But overlapping all of this was a bone wearing tiredness. And an ever increasing dread of that day arriving. The day she would end up ‘alone’.
She was tired. Of all the fights and all the arguments and the ego-boosting battles which end with the other person apologising. Now ego was boosted if someone kept on loving her. This shift in the balance had caught her off guard. One day she was young and the next day, she was simply not. There was no interlude, for preparation. Nothing which signalled to her that there was a change coming, a quickening of the wind maybe, or a chill in the air. Nothing.
She woke up one day, and the freshness was gone, and all the facials and mainenance routines in the world could not make her twenty-two again.
Especially in the head. She had lived too much. The irony was deadning. There was too much life. And unfortunately, it was more sordid than most.
So she realised that her asserting herself was an option now only to a point. It was time to compromise. It was the time to say goodbye to herself. Because from now on, everythign was going to demand a piece of her.
That’s the tax on growing old. You give up yourself.