Still young

At the nursing home, the elder ladies welcomed me when I served them food. They wanted to know my name and where I was from. For some this home will be permanent. For others it may be temporary. I watched them eat and asked them if they needed anything. I couldn’t stop wondering, where will I be when I get old? I wondered if they were happy, if they felt alive.
Some of them don’t talk much. There are a few who sit by themselves, eat in silence, and leave without a single word. I can’t help but feel sad. What’s their story, I wonder. What was their life like when they were young?
I’m afraid that time is passing incredibly fast. I’m afraid that I’m not living it. I’m afraid of what I won’t do. I’m afraid it’ll be too short.
I clean the tables after they leave. I don’t ever want to have to sit on these chairs.

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