Growing old by the lake

when we sat out at the lake,
you asked whether
I felt
different

I sat there thinking what it
was that you
meant by
that

Did I feel different with you ?
Or did I feel different sitting
silently by this clear
lake with
you ?

In my silence, you held
my hand and I was
scared you read
into my
confusion

But when I looked at you
something in me changed
at that
moment

I saw through the window of
your eyes where two
white-haired
people sat,
By a lake on a
concrete bench,
Holding hands even
with weak, fragile hands
Enjoying the scenery of
absolute peace and quiet
Now there was confusion
painted on your face

And finally my answer came
out deeply
certain,
"Yes.
Yes I feel different.
In more ways than
one"