Accepting my age

The time has come to embrace my natural greyness. When I look at my reflection, silver locks intertwine with my dark hair.

I remember the "frenzy" of years gone by, eagerly trying every colour to stop the passage of time on my forehead. But what was I so afraid of losing when I lost my youthful tones?

My ability to love, I thought then. But love is not so superficial, nor is our value tied to any fleeting physical trait. Throughout my illness, this lesson was forged through hardship: no real time was lost, only lived.

Now, when I look at fellow artists, their beauty at my age inspires me. They gracefully carry the years that bring wisdom, not as burdens but as gifts. And in my own "garden" - the landscape of my soul - I have cultivated an abundance too precious to deny.

This season, I let nature take its course. My grey hair is a badge I proudly claim, proof that my dreams and passions live on even though my hair now glistens with stardust. My journey doesn't end, it just changes shape once more.