This is what I wrote for a writers’ workshop I attended last night. The topic was betrayal:

Betrayal can be subtle. It does not have to mean unfaithfulness, infidelity, or duplicity. It can be in the simple things. The blue veins in my hands betray my age. Unlike Madonna who now wears gloves to hide her blue cords, mine have surfaced with no anonymity.

People who have not seen me for decades declare “You look the same”—but I know they are being kind. I do not look the same. I do not need to list how I have changed—in case you have not noticed—but I tend to keep a half smile on my face so it does not fall into the frown of old age. I do not always remember, thus I betray myself.

As we get older, our bodies betray us. Aches and pains become daily companions. Skin wrinkles. Hair turns grey. Weight needs to be watched. But this is a betrayal that has a happy ending at least for the time being. I am still alive to turn grey and wrinkled and hobble about. So far I am winning the race against my disloyal body.

Published in: on March 5, 2015 at 11:13 am  Comments (20)  
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