Age

The year I fell in love, there were pins and needles on my back. It seemed as though life was quickly coming to a close. I guess that's how it feels as your hair begins to gray. And it's not just the colour of your hair that changes. It's also your skin tone, the rigged patterns on your nails, the multiplying lines on you forehead and the thickening of your toenails.
So, that's what the year was like. With all the changes my body was swiftly taking in, my heart was headily tumbling too. The circumstances were not the same anymore. We had come a long way from when we were young. I was no more the bubbly young girl he had known. He was no more the man with an intense silence. But with all the years that had elapsed without us remembering each other's existence, we'd become grown-ups.
And we had learnt to love again. Like grown-ups. That's what made love so much more demanding. I couldn't run out to meet him anymore like I might have done when I was a girl. I couldn't look into his eyes and tell him I loved him, which I might have done if I was younger. Age had taken its toll and I was now confined to my gardens and the side-walks that separated my part of the town from his. We'd grown old.
And with my back aching and my knees sometimes refusing to bend, I wished I had still remained a girl, who could have gone down on her knees and asked him to make love to her.