a year ago, i spent most nights engulfing myself in meadows and forests strictly dreamed up through words.
but today,
i have noticed that words don't flow as easily out of my mind;
as i have no inspiration to write like i did before.
tears don't fall as frequently
and i am starting to wonder if you become less susceptible to pain as you age.
i don't stay up late thinking of things that my mind would have drowned me in, a year ago.
i have accepted the changes of early adulthood and i feel less naive and youthful.
I remember being younger and feeling so misunderstood by adults.
"I mean, they used to be my age" I would think, "they should understand more"
but now i see it
now i feel it.
They mature, whether they meant to or not they
matured and forgot what it was to be young.
And for most, they didn't even see that they changed but i saw it.
I am seeing it everyday.
I see it in myself.
I saw it when i picked up a pencil and minutes passed where no meadows and forests had been dreamed up.
I felt it when i was wrapped in a cocoon of blanket and instead of sadness crippling me, i lay thinking of my next pay check and how i was going to spread it out over two weeks evenly.
now, everyone ages in their own way.
everyone loses their youthfulness in different forms.
i noticed through my lack of creativity and inspiration to write.
and in a sense, i am relieved.
because i don't expend energy over things that don't matter,
i breathe easier now,
i see things clearly,
i am more level-headed.
and even though i may be the adult that doesn't understand the child fully,
i haven't forgotten what it is to be young.
as i search for youth constantly
and pick at my brain until i dream up worlds as easily as i had a year ago so that while i age, i don't forget.
youthfulness is beautiful but i believe aging is too.