ageing

there is a cherry on the table. and if i could just reach it i would know colour, i would know my past, i could have again the loves i’ve lost, and the places i’ve been, and all the growing up i’ve done…
but the table is vast and the cherry seems to shrink before my eyes, rotting, shriveling, becoming meek. i see the pip and the stem falls off and then… and it’s so fast. so very fast. so very, very…