we seems to forget about her. we are always busy with our own family, our daily grind, our future and yet forget the value, the tradition, the experience, the teachings. death is a scary thing and it seem like that is what she is waiting for. living in a house where walls and what in front interest her. Grandchild have no patience for her story, grandchild would never understand a bond with an old people, it has become a figure to respect than an old friend. her constant nagging has become a radar. she can never know what she wants anymore, a life? a career? a relationship? a journey? she doesn't have the power to demand what she want anymore. what left of her is her long white hair, fragile body and time. is this how she should live? she is not a figure, she is an old friend of mine.
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