There's an Old Lady...

There's an old lady that I keep on seeing. She's one of those eccentric ones, you know, with the colourful hats and mischievous glint in her eyes...when she sees me, she smiles as if she recognizes something. I wonder what it is? The creases on her face know no resting place, and map out stories I can not even begin to decipher. The thing about old age is that it transcends race, gender, nationality. I want to drink tea with her, listen to her stories. What would she tell me? About loves not had, lovers had, babies conceived, perhaps not? What is her story? And is she really content moving about, her back bent, lipstick smeared, good looks but a distant memory...but still..there is beauty there. What is her story?

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