Whether You’re 21 or 42

PicMonkey Collage

Something I always have trouble understanding is why individuals rely so much on age as a response or reason for their actions. On love, they say that they’re too young to come home to someone, to engage in anything remotely consistent because now’s the time for experience.  To which home is a lonely Uber ride for 1, and a mass text to those who will answer before the sun comes out.

Many important things are ageless. Whether we like it or not. There’s no age limit to when we’ll stop over-drinking, whilst vaguely remembering our friends looking towards the backseat apologetic for someone else’s actions. We’ll always stare towards the doorway hoping for them to walk in, but as soon as the night’s over you want nothing more than to walk out. Night’s out are tricky, we get scorned for even attempting to engage in an emotional or physical Victor x Victrola moment (click this for reference explanation)

“That’s not who you are” someone yells from behind
“You still don’t know me” I yell back

I question when the emotional rejection dies down. When people use being young as an excuse towards why things are the way that they are, like we’re supposed to experience this. We’re supposed to work a 9 to 5 and use our lunch break to slam our cellphones against the wall, and come to terms with the emotional greediness people have.

I don’t really rationalize feelings or effort. I scour the city for sentimental things because I think our 20s are for this. Romanticism ages depending on the individuals you meet and the hearts they’ve come across. But my God, does my heart deserve peace. I know there’s a lot more out there waiting for me, but even with fresh wounds I still stitched myself up for the battle.

Those who are fortunate, get to know the right people at 4am. Where there’s a natural force of silence because you don’t want to wake the rest of the world up. It’s the most honest hour, where we’re conscious over the innocence deteriorating amongst two individuals. As we get older, it gets less exciting. Creaky hardwood floors know more than the outside world, I promise you that. It was quite strange, because for once I wasn’t staring at the ceiling at 4am waiting for some sort of clue. Alone.

And how did we get to, “I’m probably not going to be able to write about him that way.” To a sudden resistance to not write anything at all because you’re going to publish, and publish. I can’t think of what to say back to you because I’ll either send you a link to these blog posts or sit in silence.

Darling I don’t know what the world did to you, but I hope I don’t haunt you at 42. These posts and musings won’t betray you, especially if you met me by accident at 22. Just because we have time, doesn’t mean you can take advantage of mine.



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