On the island of Crete we saw what we wanted our old age to look like. She was alert, sprightly, a good dancer, flitting about. One could see in his dimmed eyes the joy of her being with him. In a fog, she ensured his happiness while exhibiting her own. Occassionally she would lose him, or, perhaps, he lost her. She would find him, dance with him, talk to him. They were from France. Well dressed, polite, vivacious.
We are on the doorstep
Seeking to define each our happinesss.
When we are within each other’s space
There is no question of it.
Only when thoughts impede
what the eyes cannot see;
Only when finances intervene
Is it difficult to free
Ourselves as happy.
Happiness disappears the moment thought appears.