It's something old. It's that relic of a record crackling as it turns on the turntable. It's every prominent wrinkle on someone's face that shows just how much they've done in their life, how many beautiful memories they are carrying with them. It's a certain smell, a certain musty smell that hits you squarely in your nostrils as you enter a room. It's an unrelenting march onwards until every bone is too brittle to move and every neuron has burnt out. It's something that petrifies us deep down in the most primal way because it makes us realise that we'll age and wither just like everything else, but it's nothing to be afraid of; It's simply something old.