There was a little girl on the bus this morning, about five years old, chattering away, singing Incy Wincy Spider to her mum. Her mind wandering here and there as children’s thoughts often do, speaking random thoughts out loud; the innocence of childhood. I felt how wonderful it must be to have a child to love – to have the love of a child. And the tears came.
I glanced out of the window and saw an old man sitting at a bus stop. Saggy wrinkled skin. Dry skin. He too was muttering away; a different kind of chatter. No one was listening. No one paid him any attention.
A little girl with so much to come, a future, so much to learn and understand and yet no sense of what that is. An old man with nearly everything behind him, decades of memories, the future winding down – and every sense of what that means.
Two different ends of life’s spectrum. And the tears came.
The tears come…the tears come…