He asked me if I am growing up He told me that he only accepted maturity He asked me if I understood He asked me if I knew the truth I said the greatest truth that I have ever seen Comes from innocent youth Youth with their fresh naivety I said maturity is subjective True growth comes from self-connection I said I'm not growing up I'm growing into me
maturity is subjective true growth comes from self - connection
What the hell does that mean? When does someone become an adult? When they turn 18? 21? Or does age even matter? Maybe it’s more about what someone does. How much someone accomplishes. What makes someone an adult? Driving? Moving out of your parents house? Getting an education? Losing their virginity? Having a full time job? Making money? Marriage? Children? What if I haven’t accomplished any of these? What does that make me? All I know is that I’m 25 and still feel like a ******* child.
Time has generated an unfamiliarity with this space, and admittedly, I have not returned out of a diminished need. My bond with these four walls has been reduced to that of a tourist visiting foreign sacred spaces, seeking enlightenment in places where they cannot return.
The pictures painted on old white walls from light through stained glass no longer tell me a story; I only see pretty shapes, of which are reminiscent of a conventional child-like quality, where I can recognise alluring images, but do not understand what they represent just yet. This cathedral holds no new chapters for me.
I feel that my words of faith are composed by a ghostwriter. Although published under my name, they do not belong to me, and I can no longer claim them as my own. This journey was a marathon beginning at birth, and it’s time I stop running.