There was an old lady,
who lived alone
across the street
from my home.
She had told me a story
of how her days
in her old age
feel labored,
something akin to
when she had once climbed
Mt. Kilimanjaro.
But then, life was young,
the sky, it felt brighter,
and there was a companion
walking beside her.
These days, she said,
life looks forward to
a glimpse of the mailman,
who holds promises for,
connecting her world to
a world she once knew.
She is there no more,
and now old myself,
I understand what she meant.
I catch myself
hoping that the mailman
will stop by,
and pump some air in
my ever-shrinking world.
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