Older and Older We Grow.

I used to believe that everything would work itself out
in a tangle of beauty and glitter. Shiny words, pretty people,
getting older would mean answers, not questions.
How untrue could this be? The questions multiply as the answers come, the
answers contradict themselves, creating webs of lies that aren’t
always ugly but are usually complete.
I used to think that growing older would equate
to fearlessness and that nothing could harm someone so confident and sure.
Instead I’ve learned that darkness crowds corners
of minds when the mind has had room to grow more
and more complex. So is life.

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