Old Man with Money

I was driving my car and I thought about life.

I’m young.

I strive for money.

When I’m getting older, money is no longer important.

When I’m old, I have too much money and I don’t know how to deal with them.

When I’m old, the money is a burden on me.

I’m staying and I’m waiting patiently to receive money.

I envision I would have enough money so that I don’t have to work anymore.

When I’m old, I have a lot of money that I don’t know what to do with.

When I’m old, money is useless, and they are worthless to me.

When I’m old, I want to give, but my body and spirit has waited too long to be able to give.

When I’m old, I’m alone with a lot of money. Money doesn’t talk to me.

When I’m old, I’m slow and I’m weak.

When I’m old. I look back on my youth: I had a chance to have something valuable. The valuable thing wasn’t money. The valuable thing was the people I met. The valuable thing was my work. The valuable thing was helping my friends. The valuable thing was living. The valuable thing was NOT the number indicating the quantity of wealth I had. Wealth was such an ironic thing. It deceived me. When I was young, I waited patiently for the money. Now I’m old, I regret how I have wasted all my time for the illusion.