Between the lines

Loss of one's place.

I am the old, wise one.
You are young and free-spirited.
We are great friends.
The age difference means nothing.

We meet irregularly
always in a place
full of strangers,
noisy with stories
Silence subtle

Your absence leaves a gap
that is hard to occupy,
like ships passing
in the night comes to mind.
Your freshness and youth
casts a pall sometimes
when I see you
gallivanting about.
Arriving, departing,
Arriving a little more worn
and frazzled.

I envy your vigour,
but I have had my day
where I bathed in the
fame and attention.
I was a pioneer in my time.

I portend my demise
soon to be put on a trolley,
wheeled away, straight backed,
stamped "Withdrawn from circulation".
Not all stories have happy endings.