Seventy-five years old. Where did the time go? So vividly I can remember my youth. Oh – my glorious youth! Running with friends to catch a rebellious balloon, waiting perpetually for the afternoon bell signifying the end of yet another day of school, making jokes and songs with well-remembered camp friends – it all seems like a dream now. Back then the days dragged on to the length of an eternity, but now everything seems like a blur. Blasted memory, why must you torment me so?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

And yet time speeds on. Regardless of death, regardless of age, regardless of thought – time speeds on. And what have I to show for it but fading memories of a college too expensive, an addiction too hard to break, a man too precarious. What is to come of me now? My children are grown and have children of their own. I am left with but the messy, ancient scrapbooks of a time far too long ago.

I believe that every person is entitled to one drug – mine was gambling. The slots, the lights, the bells, the money – it was all so tempting. I suppose that’s why he left. I played the slots too much; he stayed with his books, coffee, and collections. Two different sides of the coin, you could say. But that’s all over now, we learn to move on, continue living – keep time at bay. I’m past the casinos now, and he’s past me. I guess we’re both living a better life because of it. Maybe it was just time for a change.

I spend most of my days buried in old albums, letters, and postcards; most nights spent dreaming of what could have been – what should have been. But, things happen, people adjust. I don’t believe in regrets, only mistakes to be learned from. And boy, do I have some learning to be done.

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Author's Note; This was also a school assignment. We were supposed to write as if we were 75 years old, and reflecting back on our life. Just thought I'd elaborate on that.