Her Life is Her Crown By Terveen Gill

She is old and she isn’t. It’s hard to explain the state of her mind and body.

Seventy-four may be too many years for some, but she is adjusted to her routine and her habits.

You could call her a walker and a talker. Both are her passions. She can walk like a youngster, high on energy, carefree, her legs are her pillars, sturdy and strong, keeping her on the ground but lifting her spirit high.

Her words are her lovers. They hide beneath her tongue, naked and flirtatious, wanting to spill from her lips, caressing the softness of moisturized skin.

Her hair, once lush and black, now gray and thread-like, braided and wound into a bun, dainty and centered, adding to her elegance.

The aches and pains come and go, at times, making her irritable, her face a sad picture. The painkillers give her some comfort, more than the people around her. Age can make a person lonely, or it could be the desertion of goals and duties that leave one empty and forlorn.

She eats like a mouse, nibbling on her food like it might explode if she bites or chews too hard. Her body agrees and disagrees with her, some days a compromise is out of the question.

Her memories are the kindest, giving her solace, reassuring her that she hasn’t lost her sense of direction. Where she once was, where she now resides, her blanket of thoughts is intact and that is the safety net that will catch her.

Fine clothes and expensive jewelry, she has had her pick and it’s been plenty, though the attainment of wants was a winding and arduous journey.

Is that why she can’t catch her breath sometimes?

She’s a queen with no designated kingdom. Her life is her crown, and she has worn it well. So what if it’s lost a bit of its luster?