Growing Old
[The Slow Becoming]
We do not grow up—
we unfold,
like paper left in the rain,
blurring ink into new meanings.
Each birthday is a farewell
to a version of us
that lived without knowing
the weight of knowing.
Wrinkles do not mark decay—
they are carvings of return,
paths drawn by the soul
as it circles back
to what matters.
We age like rivers age—
not by stopping,
but by deepening.
Growing up is not leaving youth behind—
it’s learning to carry it
without breaking.
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