feeding maybelle

As a child, your parents seem to be a generalized middle aged and grandparents a basic sort of old. Time is not something to be saved. Existence and life spread out forever in front of you.

And, then one day, all of a sudden, you look into your parents’ faces and something has changed. Somehow for years, decades maybe, you didn’t notice time had been etching upon their visages; and with those changes they are moving further towards leaving you. All of sudden you want to gulp them in, you want to understand them, know who they might have been before you. You want to yell sorry for the old faults, for the slammed doors, for the grimaces, for the tears. You want to go back to that moment when time didn’t matter; when you sat on their laps; when they were the most beautiful, most intelligent, the most. You want something back that you didn’t value enough at the time and something you can’t get back when it’s gone.