This is a place of shadows. I was there recently. For a while. The place is old age. It is she who writes his rules and everyone serves her there. She herself is looking straight into the eyes – shamelessly, in a horrible way. She looks even though she does not look straight. He looks through the observer, with pride, self-confidence – ruthlessly. Old age penetrates deep into a human being making it physically and mentally wreck waiting for its turn – the turn to meet another friend of old age – death. Old age is part of only a few, chosen according to unwritten rules and widely understood happiness. It binds tightly, painfully, like a constantly clamping barbed wire. Pazernie, because as part of it is furious that only so much can. He never lets go. However, for the most part, old age is a whole, it is a state. Then, it pushes without any frames or barriers. Here, in old age, there is no word “dignity”. For example, you can not choose a moment of meeting her second friend – death, but only – as in Russian roulette – passively wait for your end. This waiting can be seen on the faces of the shadows, who, not so long ago, were volcanoes hated by the old age of youth. Now the shadows feel worse, debased. Devastated the more, the more they collide with someone younger. For example, contact with family on the one hand brings light, but on the other it intensifies the awareness that here they are, shadows are just shadows. A dot at the end, sometimes a very short sentence. These feelings manifest even in physical inefficiency. It is she who brutally and, worse, publicly collide with the obviousness of everyday normality, now appearing as the heights of human existence. How bad it can feel the shadow, attracted by the scent of food, which even crawls out of hunger in its wheelchair centimeter by a centimeter, a pace that departs any memories or pictures that appear over a bed from years ago. The commonality of everyday life sets new standards, in which the awkwardness of the soma does not even allow you to raise your head, showing the remnants of human pride that belongs to a punishment called life. Doused, spat upon, hungry by shadow, he moves his hands awkwardly and bound to the canteen with his crooks, to eat in his bent shape, leaning like a pig over the trough, unable to look at the companion on the other side of the table at the same time. Even this is too much for old age which curves, hunchback, coffins making us look with envy on the colorful world from the TV screens, not allowing to reach through the window often because it suddenly turns out to be too high, or the world behind it appears to be fuzzy stain. Now I understand why some put a sign of equality between life and death. Old age is the most perfect example and expression. I’m afraid. I feel helpless in the face of the awareness that once I will open the door of the place of shadows not only as a guest …