When Did I Stop Being Me?

When Two People Are Meant To Be Together, They Will Be Together. It's Fate.

I Am Ninety. Or Ninety-three. One Or The Other.

I Hate This Bizarre Policy Of Protective Exclusion, Because It Effectively Writes Me Off The Page.

Sometimes When You Get Older — And I’m Not Talking About You, I’m Talking Generally, Because Everyone Ages Differently — Things You Think On And Wish On Start To Seem Real. And Then You Believe Them, And Before You Know It They’re Part Of Your History, And If Someone Challenges You On Them And Says They’re Not True — Why, Then You Get Offended Because You Can’t Remember The First Part. All You Know Is That You’ve Been Called A Liar.

Even When I Look Straight Into The Milky Blue Eyes I Can't Find Myself Any More. When Did I Stop Being Me?