At just what point does the angry young poet become the cantankerous old git? Is there a crossover point, or just a gradual fade over?
Likewise invisiblity.
I accept the fact that as we get older we're noticed less. Jostled in the supermarket... walked passed in the street as though we're no more significant than the lesser spotted ameoba. A smile met with a stone wall look (not even the warmth of brick)...
It doesn't matter, because it's people that you don't know, but I've started to feel the same in my own home...
And hence starting this blog.... whoever reads it or not, it's been written.
This is my scream!