Time Flies.

“And just like that,” aided with a snap of his fingers,
“you are eighty years old.”

I looked down at my hands and did not recognize them,
But something about the calluses told me that it was tough.
The scars that marked the fingers warned that it had hurt,
And the creases and lines showed me that it was full of love.

I opened my wallet and saw the pictures of my children. 
I smiled.
I walked through the graveyard and saw my wife.
I cried.
I took a seat on a park bench and laughed.
I had lived.

d.p

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/49xkz2/blooming_relationships/d0x7ehq https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/49zi1n/on_a_dark_night/d0x78rz