My dramatic take on getting old before actually becoming old…Leda Spiranec
My skin is going to be really wrinkled when I grow old.
I’ve been thinking about it for
I’ve been thinking about it for… a while now… in some random moments.
It is not something necessarily bad, negative, it just suggests the inevitable change that is to come.
I see my skin the same way as a sailor sees his sea. I track the changes on it, see it smooth, yet again slightly wrinkled, sometimes, just for a moment, and then again it flattens out. I can see, predict where my now unassuming pores will take shape and become big and wide, further making room for the deep lines on a greasy skin that will become even more so as the life does its own with me. My face is young, but the skin is already preparing for the old. For the storm to come. As on an open sea when it is at its most quiet just before the storm. With its precarious nature, you can feel the tension in the air, you are prepared, but still. And yet the coming change surprises you.
I do not hear it.
I do not taste it.
I do not smell it.
I cannot touch it.
I can only feel it.
As if that isn’t enough.