The Tower

Methaphor of aging

The tower stood firmly on the ground she was born.
She climbed the stairs that were within it; crescending into infinity.
It took her years, for some of the staircases were broken or missing at all.
At last she reached a sort of attick, it’s walls filled with shelves, full of books that
contained all the memories.
She was surprised; why they were kept there, and who will read them ? Shall I ?, she
thought .......
Instantly a fire below caught her attention; the cracking sounds of wood falling
apart……
No hesitation was in her mind as she opened the windows above her.
The wind whirled in; bringing the relief of memories that had to be written.
She took her pencil right away......