How old are you?
Aren’t you never supposed to ask a woman this? Well, I’ve got to ask myself, because I don’t have a grasp of my age.
With Randy gone, I feel the age of when we met. I’m not going to say that number (because I just can’t face my age) but we were together for 30 years. So definitely I’m not that age still. But why do I feel that age rather than my actual age? I look in the mirror and am angered by my current body.
Seems to me that my self has gone back in time to the last time I was single, alone; and that was when I met Randy. Her and I are in similar situations: alone, lost, broken, confused, seeking, unknowing. Randy entered her life and though it took a while, we developed a wonderful life together. Now I’m looking for Randy again, but this time he won’t be coming into my life. I’m devastated.
So now that girl from 30 years ago hurts again along with this Donna of today, and we both are just shocked that Randy is gone. Yes Donna, he’s gone… I’ve reached acceptance, but moments of shock still catch me off guard, with the deepest and most intense pain that knocks me off my feet.
Realizing my age brings me to realize this loss, the last 30 years passed by and gone… and now I don’t know who I am. Maybe another look in the mirror is needed, a good long look for acceptance.
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