I’ve always wanted to have a grandfather.

But due to unexpected life shortcuts, both of them were gone long before I could sit on their lap and play with their white beard and hear stories from when the world didn’t use to end.

Now, my imaginary grandfather looks a lot like the one in the picture. In the long, winter nights, we sit by the fireplace and in the summer, we occupy our swinging chairs in the porch, with a blanket of stars over our heads. And he says all these simple, breathable things to me, hoping that I at least get to do some of them, so when I’m 95 I can laugh like that, with no teeth.

Caught in my 21st century, postmodern ADD, it doesn’t seem like I’m listening… but deep down, my tired heart is taking notes.

“I don’t believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one’s aspect to the sun.” 

~ Virginia Woolf

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