My back feels as if I’ve been stabbed by people who I presumed to be my allies. My feet are so weak I can barely stand let alone take a single step without moaning. My wrist sting as I type a single letter on this very keyboard. Placing insoles in my shoes so I may walk. Wrapping braces around my wrist and back to keep the pain at bay. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel this achiness, where I feel as though this body has reached its peak. Some nights I stay awake begging to god for mercy. In the mirror, I have the appearance of a 18 year old, and yet I have the strength of someone who is 75. Coming undo like an aged doll, holding myself together with glue, strings and ibuprofen. I can envision my hands disintegrating into soot by a feeble wind. Becoming the dust of the earth of which all living organisms are subjected to return into. I fear for the worst, that my days are numbered. Unable to do the things I was able to do with ease. Carrying my godson on my back, carrying leftovers down the stairs. I know every human being in the world says this, but where the hell did my youth go. It’s a sickening feeling, to be aware of my deciding youth. To come to grips with that my immortality was but a lie I told myself. It’s funny really, how easy it is for the body to crumble. The aged and the frael are fated for oblivion.