How Do You Age A Life Of Regrets

How Do You Age A Life Of Regrets

How do you measure passing time when every hour stands still,

When days fall heavy on your chest and bend against your will,

The mirror shows a changing face, the years have left their mark,

Yet something deeper stays the same, a quiet, growing dark.

I count the moments left behind more often than the new,

Each memory a weight I carry, each one painfully true,

The things I should have said out loud, the paths I did not take,

All settle into who I am, in every choice I make.

The hands of time move on regardless, they do not hesitate,

They never stop to question loss, or pause to reconsider fate,

And still I stand within their path, unable to outrun,

A life that feels unfinished still, though so much has been done.

The years collect like fallen leaves, they gather at my feet,

A record of what could have been, and all I did not meet,

I try to brush them all aside, yet more replace their place,

A quiet storm I cannot calm, no matter how I chase.

Is there an end to looking back, a way to let things rest,

Or do we age with every thought that never leaves our chest,

A slow surrender to the past that shapes what we become,

A silent echo carried on long after it is done.

And so I move, though not with ease, through time I cannot mend,

Still learning how to carry on, without a perfect end,

For even in a life of weight, where regrets refuse to part,

There lives a fragile, steady beat, the rhythm of the heart.

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