A man works his whole life - if he's lucky, he does something he loves.
He marries and he and his wife raise children. And he watches them marry and move off to lives of their own. And his happiness and pride are in their lives and how well they do.
But, he gets to an age when old friends die, and as they do, leaving him behind, he begins to see the cycle of life play out.
All around him are the young, the vibrant, the ones who were him when he was young.
He knows their future. He IS their future.
And he begins to understand why he is so invisible to them. It's because he's their future, and way down inside, they know it.
They don't want to look.
Sagging flesh and spotted skin - not what they want to see. Their reflection, in THEIR mirror, is what they will see and enjoy. Forever.
I thought so, too.
Ndinombethe. Ubuntu.
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2 comments:
Lovely, Lou.
... quite the philosophical one ... but it lends itself to the resigned bitterness of Schopenhauer... moody and reflective, methinks...
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