Sentimentalist

I am sentimental. And with age, it gets more refined and defined.

It used to be a big mash of overwhelming, uncontrollable emotions...exploding fast and left me quivering with rage or tears. I didn't have words for them, they were as real as you saw.

Bad deeds were done, harsh words spoken and much hurt rendered.

Age is a marvellous cure for recklessness and spontanity. Age makes you selective. Age justifies forgetfulness. Age makes memories more beautiful or excruciating.

Like aged whisky, the flavours bring reminisence and clarity of the past.

Unconsciously, I have distanced myself from them. Recollection brings back the familiar feeling once again, albeit with more precision, on old sentiments.

It is always laced with questions and resignation.

I am sentimental. But Time has passed.

I can only carry on.