Tea
... It had been sixty years since that day. Stan was now thirty four.
I like that you don't tell us exactly which days he's been skipping. If it's been 4 years since the perfect day when se stopped drinking and began waiting. Who exactly it is he is waiting for.
One perfect day, he told himself, he would stop.
So he hasn't stopped yet. Tomorrow he may drink. Which makes today different from yesterday and tomorrow. Which means there have been 4 years worth of todays in the last 60 years.
He would drink the tea when she finally returned.
When I read it the first time I got the feeling 'she' was dead. Not returning. And his perpetuated youth was a penance for loosing her.
The second time I read it I thought she had just left, he doesn't know where she is, whether she has access to, or desire to drink the tea where she is. Hope keeps him drinking, dispare dumps it out.
Overall a great piece. I didn't think it captured youth, youthfulness, or a sense of being young. It's a beautiful nostalgia piece, enjoying all the wisdom and life experience of 90 years, 2/3 of which are spent in the relatively capable and fit body one has around 30.
Being 34 myself this year, I felt close to your MC. There are days when I love my young fit happy body. There are days when the bed torments my lower back and refuses to let go of my stiff slow moving hips, when the greys are just grey, not sparkles in my hair...
I never ask my body bow old I am. It's fickle. It doesn't know. It is how old I tell it to be- within limits of course. I empathize with Stan, I get up and look in the mirror, and see someone in their vibrant late-teens/early-twenties. But the eyes. My eyes know more than any twenty-something should. And there are days when I want to throw off my cloak of youth and see the aged crone for who she is.
1460 cups is not so many out of 21900. Not so many days to loose.
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I'm looking for grammar errors and places I could tighten up what I've got here. -Thanks in advance for replies and advice
Peter lay on his back ignoring the brilliant blue sky and its depressingly cheerful clouds.
He didn't know anymore how long he'd been 'always a boy,' never growing up. Disturbingly he'd lately begun to wonder if he was missing out on something. If there wasn't something in Tinkerbell's temper, or Tiger Lily's smile he should be understanding, and wasn't.
Cannon fire in the distance calls him back from the brink.
Fighting pirates must be better than being a grownup... right?