twenty.

Every time my birthday comes around, I usually didn’t feel much. I’ve always felt older than I am, even though I’ve always been the youngest person in pretty much most social circles for my whole life. Every year when my dad asks me if I feel older, I’ve always said that “I’ve felt older for a while” or something like that. But this year I don’t feel older. As I’m writing this I am 19. The last year of me being a “teenager”. I’ve always thought that twenty is the official age of adulthood, simply because 19 still ended in ‘teen’. When I post this I will be twenty. But I won’t feel twenty. I know I won’t. I’ve had this constant struggle of dealing with nostalgia and the past for a little while now. It’s gotten to the point where sometimes I cannot by alone with my own thoughts without being consumed of thoughts of the past. Thinking of things I would do over/wish I never did/wish I could live through again. The age of twenty always seemed like a big deal, but now that I am almost there I realize that it isn’t. It doesn’t mean tomorrow I will wake up and suddenly have all my shit together. Growing up is inevitable, but change won’t happen overnight. Who knows, I might still be in the same place when I am 24, but I hope not. Most kids say they can’t wait to grow up. But I was never really like that. I’m still not.