Getting Old

I get on and off the trains without looking or listening, somehow reaching my destination, waddling with the morning penguins.

I try to stop myself from drinking enough coffee to make my stomach hurt, but it's a nice way to get my mind off my mind.

It's time for a change of scenery.

I can hear the difference in his voice. It's striking, and I droop a little. I'm too empathetic. I'm more empathetic with his depression than my own. I offer suggestions, trying not to sound like an authority. It sounds something like how it goes in my head. I love when I try to fix other people to avoid fixing myself.

But I'm not even interested anymore. Everything grows old, threatening to take me with it.

This vibrating in my chest is becoming bothersome, nearly a shutter. Soon I'll vibrate myself right out of this town, and into a new scenario to become old. But really, I'm the one that's getting old, and I take everything with me.