I yearn for the girl I used to be.
The girl who used to care about her studies.
The girl who used to write poetry.
The girl who used to sing confidently.
The girl who used to paint vividly.
The girl who used to love freely.
The girl who used to care deeply.
I do not care about my studies (as much).
I do not write poetry (as much).
I do not sing confidently (as much).
I do not paint vividly (as much).
I do not love freely (as much).
I do not care deeply (as much).
The intensity has passed on,
to younger generations,
to newer beings,
to fresh souls,
with more to live for,
with more to care for,
and with more to prepare for,
than I.
For I am old,
and I will continue to do the things I love,
but not with the passion,
but not with the love,
but not with the care,
but not with the confidence,
but not with the freedom,
that I once had.
f.m.s.
Is this what aging feels like?
