I went through a season of being older than I truly was. Acting older, thinking like an older woman, and I forgot how to be 19.
Oh how I have missed you. The day I celebrated you seemed to last only but a few minutes. You slipped away from me like a thief slips into the darkness of night to conceal himself. I felt you around me for a brief moment and my heart felt right.
My mind remembers 20 coming a week later, and 21 soon followed in pursuit of my character. Day by day 22 and 23 came, eventually I arrived at 25. It has been my comforting friend, as if I had climbed the tallest tree and being fearful of going back down to the ground I clung to the tips of the tree, the most unstable branches, in hopes of not hurting myself.
My humour is that of a 25 year old, I challenge my surroundings in order to project my friend 25. My mind runs in circles trying to catch 19, my humour for a brief moment reflects its true self but I am soon pierced by the daggering stares around me. I start my slow ascent to 25 once again.
I’m numb from ‘white knuckling’ to 25. You have deceived me! You seemed to have the most beauty and elegance from where I stood and gazed in wonder. But when I started my ascent a concealed contract was signed off, a contract in which I forfeited my right to claim 19 as my own. Only if I had known. Everything that grew to be 19 within me was stolen away on my watch, on my account. No other is to blame for this act but me.
But how good grace is, how scandalous is it that he strengthens my heart to descend once again. I now plant my feet firmly to the ground that I was content with at first, 19.