There will come a time where our bodies will be weighed down, by the heavy of our hearts and brains and all the people and things that we've collected in them, like elementary school lunch boxes packed with love from our parents, who will be only a memory by then.
We will curve forward, our backs bending under arthritic decay and we will rely on steal wheels and chrome walkers to carry the wisdom that feeds on the marrow of our bird-like bone structures.
Our hands will look like grains of sand misplaced by the wind, our joints slightly out of place from holding together all the pieces of all the memories of all of our lives, but I will strain my fingers to curl around yours despite their displacement, just to hold onto the last thing I may ever know.
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