When I Was Old

[Note: This is a fictional narration by an old lady on the pyre who always was desired by every gentlemen while she was young and then she was ignored after her midlife.]

When I was old,
I used to think about past,
my past,
how glorious it was,
how charming the life was,
that immortal spring of youth,
that timeless red blush
on my orange cheek,
those handsome men
staring at me continuously,
I liked that,
and I admired those gentlemen,
some of those were best at faking,
faking all human basics,
and I adored them for this,
I wanted to be with them,
my nail-polish glittered for them,
I loved their courtship,
I ignored others, the real ones,
because reality is so boring,
unchanging, binding, disgusting,
reality doesn't care
for the stones I was gifted,
reality doesn't politicize love,
a reality I couldn't handle,
that I will be old someday,
I will be saggy, senile, worthless,
that youth will abandon me forever,
and I will be forgotten,
like I never existed,
but those gentlemen existed,
they still exist,
they wanted youth,
my gentleman too,
but contrary to what I was,
its just that he loved the youth,
and I ran after love, care,
I needed somebody to talk with,
I craved for a company
a soul mate,
but I don't exist now,
this is all I was left with
when I was old.