Grabbing a hold of the last flower petal

I am sure now that I have dropped a few pounds of brain cells. Indifferent to my surroundings and feeling numb, I travel forward not afraid of the path before me. It seems the grip which I hold over the few items which are left for me is solid in my grasp. So solid I cannot adjust it or even let if=t go. I wonder if with the complexities of life in this modern age weather I can survive, I am not suicidal, well at least not at the moment or have definite plans, but I am already dead. I can feel the sands from the “Summer of 42” between my toes and neon lights from the Friday night show at the single theater on the street. It’s so close to the boardwalk that those sands are wisps in the air outside in the cool breeze of the night. So many things are traveling through my brain. Do you remember the old wooden baskets which carried 3 lbs of tomatoes? The hand drill with the revolving wooden bevel gears? The slamming of the old spring on screen doors? Cotton and wool skirts long and plain and nothing in between but a simple woman. I wish for the simpler life. The one where the best thing of the day was the warm feel of a gentle hand across my forehead. I had a gift which was the driving force in my life. I gave it and gave it and they took and took. What I received in return was to be used and the rational of the usage is bazaar in the least. Slowly I feel a withering away of my drive and of my caring. There should be an answer. But it only works if you want it to.