Why I stare . . .
I've always enjoyed riding on subways, trains, and busses for one reason. It gives the excuse to stare at complete strangers. Have you ever really looked at someone's face? Babies faces look so soft. Amorphous. I swear if you pay attention long enough they change almost with each passing second. Their eyes have this liquid shifting quality. Hungry for the details and nuances of everything imaginable. Teenaged faces are the faces of transition. One minute younger then their actual years, the next ancient, and yet still somehow always in-between.
Older faces fascinate me most of all. Old woman especially. My heart fills with joy when I see older ladies of a particular type. Still beautiful, despite time gnawing away at their edges and furrowing in spidery patterns. It's not make-up, surgery, or even clothes that herald their lasting charms. It's something intrinsic. Something about their personality is so profound it leaks through the very pore of their flesh. Like a halo of transcendental glamour. I'm filled with joy when ever I see someone like this. In someways I continually search for these faces because I aspire to become like them. I see them as my destiny.
These are my heroines. Woman who still laugh out loud. Wear their clothes and hair in a style that they obviously enjoy, even if it's not 'fashionable'. I smile like the Cheshire Cat himself when I see older ladies with shaved heads, pigtails, mohawks, or even dreadlocks.
My body will get older. But I will never get 'old'. Old has the sound of something finished, final, and DONE. I'll be old when I die. Despite my bad luck of late, I like my life, and I appreciate that which I possess in almost all arenas of my world. I aspire to be like Janus. To look forward toward brighter potential while still acknowledging and remembering where I've been.
Older faces fascinate me most of all. Old woman especially. My heart fills with joy when I see older ladies of a particular type. Still beautiful, despite time gnawing away at their edges and furrowing in spidery patterns. It's not make-up, surgery, or even clothes that herald their lasting charms. It's something intrinsic. Something about their personality is so profound it leaks through the very pore of their flesh. Like a halo of transcendental glamour. I'm filled with joy when ever I see someone like this. In someways I continually search for these faces because I aspire to become like them. I see them as my destiny.
These are my heroines. Woman who still laugh out loud. Wear their clothes and hair in a style that they obviously enjoy, even if it's not 'fashionable'. I smile like the Cheshire Cat himself when I see older ladies with shaved heads, pigtails, mohawks, or even dreadlocks.
My body will get older. But I will never get 'old'. Old has the sound of something finished, final, and DONE. I'll be old when I die. Despite my bad luck of late, I like my life, and I appreciate that which I possess in almost all arenas of my world. I aspire to be like Janus. To look forward toward brighter potential while still acknowledging and remembering where I've been.