One Lost Summer (Part 8, page 3 of 43)


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Part 8

I suppose this is what it’s like to grow old and die, she mused. Our lives begin in small, closed spaces like birds’ nests, and as we grow older the world seem to grow endless and lay at our feet. Then, one day, there begins the long process of dying, when we become grounded, when flights of stairs suddenly become obstacles, when hills seem to grow ever steeper, when running, then even walking, becomes an arduous chore, until at last our world becomes very small once more; a flat with no stairs and a store close by; a walker and visits by the delivery boy; a stationary bed in some sterile room, and a telly or wireless; and then the darkness closes in until all becomes nothing . . . nothing at all, for all eternity-

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