I have fallen under the spell. So I hear it’s all downhill from 25. Your ears and nose keep getting bigger, your body slows down and grows more round, you start to grow shorter and wrinkles begin to set in. Well, I’m not giving in without a fight. My youth has always been appreciated and rarely taken for granted, but have I set myself up for a letdown? My youth has become a treasured jewel, and when something is made sacred, and is cherished, it makes it that much more difficult when stolen. I hate time. I hate birthdays. I hate the past. I hate the future. But I am only 25, and as I am still trying to make friends with the “mid-twenties”, I realize that perhaps my dilemma is centered more around my disappointment in myself for not being more successful by now. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
But I’m doing better than some, if that’s not too cruel to say. I’ve come a long way since sixteen, and I think I like myself better now. I do not accept myself as a failure, and this I guess is my driving force. Once upon a time I used to believe it would last forever.