Grays

I’m only 27 but I notice the grays, the wrinkles, the cellulite, the aches.

Maybe they’re there as mementos of the years we’ve lived, of the memories, of the gift that each passing day is.

What if these unwelcomed changes were actually cherished reminders of how far we’ve come.

Imagine if we looked forward to new sprouts of wiry white hair as a totem and tribute of where we’ve been and where we are going.

Our bodies are museums and art galleries, a living, breathing celebration of a life well lived.