Perfectly

I watch the old lady on her balcony
While listening to Lana del Ray
She is watering her plants
To tackle the hours of this humid day.

I think about aging and I can’t help
But feel a sort of sorrow and dread
I think about walking down the street
Slowly carrying my weekly bread.

I think about losing track of time
In an unforgiving world that
Leaves you behind with memories
Carrying you on their back.

And I think about counting down
The dormant days of summer
Knowing very well
You’re fading away forever.

I look at the old lady
Watering her dead flowers
They must hold a fragment of time
A fragment that perfectly devours.