Is she thinking what I am, in that limbo times has created,
the gap that lies between us, having not seen each other, her face, still
familiar even as she claims to embrace middle age,
Having survived for so long as big an accomplishment as any
previously she might have boated of, we both over the hump between rowdy youth
and supposed wisdom.
Can either of us attest to having become wise? Or is that a
thing that still eludes us, the prize we reach for on this merry-go-round of
life, when in our foolish youth we assumed the prize as something else?
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