world without end

I think that everything real, everything worth having in the sense that an object might be worth clinging to, is old. Worn, carried and possibly discarded, sometimes unwanted.

I look at people, all the time, every day, young and old and in-between. I look at their creases, at the marks they wear and their imperfections. I look at my own body -- still a good shape, but criss-crossed by scars and veins that have aged, threaded with grey hairs, unexpected in places and overgrown, overlooked maybe...but mine. Some people call me pretty, and so it might be hard to believe I could see myself as "overlooked"... but I know who I am naked, and I mostly look my age. It's important to me to be strong and flexible, too. And to last.

I pick up what I find on the street. What is old and forgotten. There is STILL beauty to be found there -- it never dies, not as long as there is light and vision.