Lessons Learnt the Hard Way

The numbers say I am getting old. I don't feel those numbers. I still feel like I've always done- except for the accumulation of memories. I may be wiser, I may be a little slower physically, but inside, I am the same. About getting wiser, it's inevitable with age I suppose. No white hair yet, but there are reading spectacles to show for it. And the years have taught me (particularly the fast few) that:

Usually, I write in extended metaphors. I do it because it's supposed to be a clever disguise over the angst in my chest. If I let it out in its raw state, it would consume me. And even in extended metaphors, I dare not linger a minute more than I need to- no use trying to pry open that Pandora's Box - nothing but a whole lot of grief inside. But one day a few days ago, a young, vibrant, highly intelligent student of mine made a comment that baffled me and gave me a lot to think about. I was, and am, a victim of the paradox this comment has put me in.