Years

Dear old lady sat on the train, weathered, content. What I see when I look at you is years. Memories, a lifetime of hopes, fears, a library of dreams. Some realised, some forgotten, lost to time. All laced with generations of love. Life. Before my eyes, I see it in you, old lady who see’s it all and who too will be claimed by the years. In time, I thought, looking at you will be like looking in a mirror.