Inevitable.

Your eyes are a milky blue, with sagging eyelids too tired to hold up your expressions of surprise and joy any longer. "I'm getting too old for this," you whisper as you quietly shuffle, grown shorter in your spine, through a mall full of teens looking for thrills and the latest trends. You longingly look at their posture and their lively legs. You glance at your worn cane, and back to them. You must take a rest now, so you sit on the bench by the indoor fountain. You watch the water ripple and the young couples kiss and throw coin-wishes into the dirty water. You cannot help but wish it was the Fountain of Youth. You remember your husband and how you used to sit with him down on the boardwalk, sharing secrets and straws at the soda fountain. You lower your head to look at the candles you bought, hiding your worn face from the glowing population surrounding you. Tears begin to follow the trenches in your face, falling from cloudy eyes plagued by bad sight. You hate so much to come home to no one but an old fat cat and a frightened canary. You haven't danced since before he got sick. Then, when he was bedridden you brought him his medicine. You took care of him so well. You remember that morning waking up, and feeling as if something was missing. You tried to wake him. Old woman, it was not your fault. Even if you hadn't forgotten his daily dose the day before, he would have gone all the same. Patience and pills could not save him from old age. And the same goes for you, and all of us.