I am a woman in pieces of colour. In the prime of my life, the vibrancy of the
rich reds and purples and greens caught the eyes of those around me. A million shades of love. A million shades of hope, of belief, of
wonder, each piece shining in its own glorious way. The colours of youth. Pieces held tightly together in the sureness
of my body and the clarity of my mind.
I am not young anymore.
Pieces have shifted or crumbled away.
Pieces that used to shine in brilliant hues are missing now, colours
faded into dark voids that hold the emptiness of lost loved ones, lost hopes,
lost beauty. Pieces whittled away and
others added, not in blues and yellows but in the grayness of wires and steel. The colours of my aging self no longer catch
anyone’s eyes.
I can no longer tell myself that I am middle aged. In a couple of years, I will qualify for old
age benefits. My world is shifting and
changing. There will inevitably be more
losses, less usefulness, less clarity. Pieces will continue to crumble. Colours will continue to fade until I am
invisible.
