Young and Old

November 7, 2010
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Eyes open for the first time. New, clean-slate skin, stretched like cashmere silk over her face. Rose cheeks are crayoned onto her baby bones, they are pinched and cooed over. A cute, button nose centered in the middle of her foolish, fresh, face. Lightly freckle-dusted from the rays of sun, like a star messy sky on a dark night, placed to mark curious suggestion. Bow-shaped lips, the colour of candy floss, giggle and gurgle ready to tackle the world with passion and pride. A pair of excited eyes, glisten, anticipating the sights of her life, glowing green like two emeralds with twilight blue flecks, shimmering impulsively like the evening sea, with dark pools for pupils that capture every moment like a camera lens, picture-perfect photos stored in her memory. Eyes, framed with fine, flattering eye lashes that curl to the sky like crescent moons. Fine eyebrows like bridges, mirror her feelings and expressions of innocence. Almond tendrils impatiently spiral down her back. The only tears that happily skip down her cheeks are from broken toys and grazed knees.

Years of experience fly by, mistakes are made and lessons are learnt. She felt the warm of love shine down on her like rays of sun that smile onto her skin between the trees. She felt the cold, harsh hate, like pricks, ricochet down her spine, penetrating each vertebrae. Opportunities are given like a hand of cards. Eventually paths are chosen, veining its way through her life, branching out. All paths come to an end.

Old, worn skin draped across her freckle-patched face. Lines, like roads carved into a saffron, velvet desert, sinking and climbing over her cheeks. Each crease has a story of love or pain, they hold expressions that will be lost forever. Eyes, dull green, like a scratched out painted roof that has fought through years of sun and storm with smudges of blue like faded jeans, glazed over with hints of lashes. A perfectly crooked smile still hides under her blanket of years. Her jaw line gracefully tires under the weight of her faded brown curls that are patiently coiled on her shoulder, bunched to one side with a silver clip. Her earlobe drooped with small diamonds dripping from them. Golden rimmed glasses, poised with composure on the bridge of her nose. The soft scent of tea with a splash of milk, hung in her clothes. The perfume of toast with jam and honey sunk into the stitches. Her heart throbbed softly against her ribcage, her breath became faint. Her eyes closed for the last time.

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