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I never got to be young. And that’s something I’m still learning how to forgive you for. I remember tasting freedom once— just a second of it— and then I fell in love again with a love that asked me to behave. A love with rules. No late nights. No parties. No drinking. No mistakes. Be quiet. Be good. Be better than everyone else. But what if I didn’t want to be better? What if I just wanted to be young? I wanted nights with my friends that blurred at the edges. I wanted to get too drunk once and swear I’d never do it again. I wanted to kiss strangers and wake up laughing at my bad decisions. I wanted mistakes that grow into stories you tell at crowded tables years later. I never got that version of youth. And nothing can return stolen time. That’s a grief I carry quietly. But look at me now— I have the life I asked for in whispers. The friends. The messy apartments. The music too loud. The house parties that stretch into morning. The oops. The you did what? The beautiful chaos of being alive. And the best part is coming home and telling it all to someone who doesn’t try to shrink me for it. That’s progress. Not perfection— progress. And maybe I didn’t get to be young then. But I am learning how to be young now.
0
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 10:52 PM UTC
I Never Got to Be Young
I never got to be young. And that’s something I’m still learning how to forgive you for. I remember tasting freedom once— just a second of it— and then I fell in love again with a love that asked me to behave. A love with rules. No late nights. No parties. No drinking. No mistakes. Be quiet. Be good. Be better than everyone else. But what if I didn’t want to be better? What if I just wanted to be young? I wanted nights with my friends that blurred at the edges. I wanted to get too drunk once and swear I’d never do it again. I wanted to kiss strangers and wake up laughing at my bad decisions. I wanted mistakes that grow into stories you tell at crowded tables years later. I never got that version of youth. And nothing can return stolen time. That’s a grief I carry quietly. But look at me now— I have the life I asked for in whispers. The friends. The messy apartments. The music too loud. The house parties that stretch into morning. The oops. The you did what? The beautiful chaos of being alive. And the best part is coming home and telling it all to someone who doesn’t try to shrink me for it. That’s progress. Not perfection— progress. And maybe I didn’t get to be young then. But I am learning how to be young now.
wildflowermuse
Written by
wildflowermuse
26
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 10:52 PM UTC
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