I spent the majority of today thinking about the way life just happens sometimes while I worked. I have these moments, those time lapses often where I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that I have become an entirely different person in what appears to be the blink of an eye. I am getting older. What does that even mean?I still think getting older is just getting more and more tired until one day you must rest for eternity because you just can’t stand underneath the beaming sun of your fatigue. Maybe getting older is just learning more and more about the world until the knowledge swells within you and you collapse.Getting older has been a lot of realizing that half of the things I thought I needed when I was younger, as in even just three months ago, I don’t really need. I have come to realize that I do not care about a lot of things I once thought I did, and then there is my heart, the opposite. I have grown older, each day new things plague my once spring heart… winter creeps upon us when we are just beginning to enjoy the delights of summer.There is this shadow in my mind over my dear heart, those people I love and had to let go of. That person I still care for beyond measures but friendship is not safe for either of us, if only she really knew how I still care for her and wish her the best.Then there is him, the one who I never even had the chance to tell how I felt. I let that chance slip away between my tiny, nervous palms. I know, I write him a goodbye the ‘morrow for holding on will only bring me greater sorrow. He was a gentleman misunderstood by the masses, poor soul, dearest Rudolph I call you though I know the roots of that name to you were pain, let affection be where there was once pain.I grow older. I grow up. For I am ready to say goodbye to one and want to be ready to say hello to another. Will I let this chance go to rot as well? Where is my bravery? Where is my boldness? Where is that bright light of mine that I so often feel searing at my heart? I write these poems, I bleed them out onto the page and yet I can not get up the nerve to even utter his mysterious name.In some ways, I am so ashamed of the coward I am sometimes. Big dreams. Reaching for the stars, yet I can not even walk in those halls and speak to the one I think understands poetry is in the trees.I work hard. I love deeply. I love all. I love. I grow. And I slant under that weight I so often speak of, their pain on my heart, little needles… Hatred pushes them in so deep, why so?Where is my nerve? Where is my smile? I should be so overjoyed for the things I have accomplished, for the love that engulfs me. Yes, I am filled with joy for this life… this journey… getting older is such a joyful adventure. I love every minute of what is here and now and look forward to what is to come.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”