I cannot forget you

I am 93 years old. Twenty-one years past 72, twenty-one years since she passed on, away, evapourated like a ghost, leaving an empty shell slouched in front of an open fire. Twenty-one years. In that time men have come of age, boys have become men and men have begot boys, but I have sat here, sat here spent. I have slept with my eyes open, these two glass marbles reflecting whatever appears before me. Staring at the glaring of the low buzz of the television, turned to low to hear, just images flickering in a corner like fish in a tank. I have never felt older than today as time passes me by while I queue to die.