being temporary

I don't feel insignificant. Nor do I feel old. Just no longer immortal. Somehow, I crossed a bridge today. Not really sure when or how. I couldn't cry. I stood partway on a bridge- looked out a window and realized I was leaving something behind.

Something's changed. I wish that all these thoughts would peel back their leathery skins and reveal the meaning that lies beneath.

It's almost like being a condemned criminal that's innocent. Walking from the cell to the executioner's block. Why so dark?