When someone I love, almost a decade younger to me, tells me stories... stories of fun and excitement... my mind tends to rewind to the way I did things.. the fun I had, and the fun I missed out on.

When she speaks with so much enthusiasm... so much enthusiasm that I had in the past, the enthusiasm that is conspicuous in life now by its absence...

When her voice echoes with an unmistakable ring of pleasure in the present and thrill about the future...I am very glad for her...

I feel the high..

but once the euphoria dies, I realise..

I am a thing of the past