There we sat; life and I, playing the game of chess.

Her exhalation be old and tired, yet with timeless youth doth she inhale.
Her memory doth fail her, yet her soul forgeteth not.
Her movements be done slow, yet quick be the bite of her heart’s passion.
Her speech may be repeated, yet her soul sings a song but only heard once.
Her mind may be wrought, yet her inner breath breathes perpetual bliss.
Her body may be crumbling, yet savory is the eternity of her bountiful lips.
Her skill may no longer be, yet her soul be dancing with tactile perfection.

I be her challenge, playing not with her wrought mind, nor her tired body. I be playing with her soul. And though I may cause the collapse of her king, I dance around the perpetual vitality of her majesty. Though she may congratulate me upon my victory, I envy her eternal escape from my luring snare. Though I may stand proud over her fallen king, it is she that continues to play.

It is I that grow old and tired, afraid of the shattering moment of her realization that I am but the momentary silence between her breath.

Inspired by the game of chess between one of our queen residents and I