Passion Taught Us To Live

Why do we have to grow up? Socially, I mean. I understand that we must physically mature, and mentally mature, but why must everything else change? Has anyone noticed how we spend our teenage years trying to act twenty-one, and once we're older than that, we spend all our time trying to look that age still? And it starts at such an early age! Little girls are wearing makeup and stuff, something I didn't start doing until last year. Six year olds don't need to be wearing mascara. What ever happened to "enjoy your childhood?" When I was younger, I thought I had a lot of time to still be a kid. Mind you, this was back in like 1st and 2nd grade. Truth is, you're only a kid for a short period of time.

Perhaps I grew up faster than I was supposed to. I had to deal with moving every few years, my dad fighting in wars, and my mother never being there. I had to learn how to take care of myself for the most part. Maybe that's why I enjoyed reading. I never had a parent to talk to, so I read. I felt such a connection to the characters, and was happy to read about everything that they did. My parents, on the other hand, can't even tell me what they did in college. Top secret stuff.

In September, when school starts, it'll be my ninth school. Ninth grade, ninth school. I'm not quite sure how that worked out. I've only been to two schools for more than one year. That makes me so sad.

I'm getting off-topic. What I really wanted to say was that I'm not ready to grow up. I'm not. In a year, I'll be able to drive (learner's permit). In four years, I'll be moving out. God, time moves so fast. One second you're waking up, the next you're falling asleep. One minute you're in Europe, the next, you're in America. One moment you're running, the next you're sitting. One day you're sure that he's the one, the next you're burning his picture. One week you're about to scream, the next you're about to laugh. One month you're excited, the next you're frustrated. One year you're ready to jump off a building, the next you're holding onto life with everything you've got.

Then there's that feeling. One where you want to scream, want to cry, want to kiss with your whole heart. You feel empty. A throbbing, yet numb hole in your chest. Longing.

I wish I could hold onto passed moments. All I have now is this second. Look, I wasted a second misspelling something. And another typing that. And another. One more passes. Two more pass. Three. Four. When does it stop?! Five. Six. Seven. It's flying by. Eight. Nine. Ten.

What if they were years? Did you waste your time on trivial things? Or did you savor those moments? Hm? Did you value your life? When you're a second from death, are you going to think about your wasted time? Or will you say: "I did everything I ever wanted to," with your dying breath? WILL YOU WASTE YOUR LAST BREATH TO SAY WHAT FEW CAN TRUTHFULL SAY? WHAT WILL BE YOUR LAST WORDS? Will you leave a legacy, or a pained memory?

This is the only life we have. I can spend as much time as I want wanting to be younger, but I won't ever let myself forget the current moment. I can dwell on things late at night, when there is nothing I'm able to do.

I won't let fear stop me from grabbing hold of every moment. I want to be able to say that I didn't waste my life.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Are you running yet?

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

Don't stop and catch your breath. Keep going, and grab onto everything you hold dear.

Ninteen.

Maybe you'll make mistakes. But you made them. Don't dwell on them. Take a chance and make up for it.

Twenty.