9:51:00 AM

Is it strange for me to say that I am afraid to grow old? Not for the fear of death or for the fear of change but for fear that it diminishes my intellect. Old people are wise. I know. That’s the problem. I feel like even being 19 gives me more credibility, which I hate. Immaturity is expected from those we call young, and therefore any act of maturity is adored and valued. However, to become old is to become responsible(this I'm not afraid of) it also means people begin to not only take you seriously but also become expectant of you(which terrifies me). It is easier to please a person who expects nothing than one who expects everything. And perhaps it will ruin me because my thoughts will be less fantastic and vivid, expected in a way. I know, I sound dramatic. But I’m not afraid of an aged face, aged legs, aged eyes. I think all these things are wonderful, beautiful even. But I fear a jaded mind, not aged with wisdom but aged with defect and lack of remembrance. I am so afraid of forgetting. As I spill these words I can feel a part of me aching, a sad section of my soul revived, reliving previous fears. Most of the time words are beautiful without us knowing why they are, it is because the human soul can discern truth, can discern passion. Words written in blood, written with the soul, are interpreted with beauty. Are heard with love. Those who read them will always know the difference between sincerity and superficiality. And it is the sincerity that makes a true writer, a writer worthy of being read. I’m sorry, I got off topic. As I speak of remembering I sense that part of me is amiss. Feeling like a premonition or disguise, I could never be quite sure. I am saddened without reason. Perhaps it is by inevitable truth.

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