Eleven Fifty-nine

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image:pinterest

It’s one thing to want to stop the time and stay still, it’s another to want it to stop because you want it to stop along with the emotions you are feeling.

Another tick, another tock, another year, another age. A few days ago I read a poem on instagram about how we age everyday, sometimes we wake up as a rebellious sixteen year old or a six year old who just wants to play with her barbie dolls and have tea with her stuffed toys. To be perfectly honest, I was neither of them, not that I didn’t have moments of rebellion when I was sixteen or never liked playing with barbie dolls. I did. But somehow along the way from that six year old girl who wanted to be a princess who believed in fairytales to that tomboyish sixteen year old who tried everything to fit it, I changed and changed over the past five years to this confused adult if I can even say that.

The clock has struck twelve and even though I wasn’t born on January 25, 1994 12 midnight on the dot, I still have a day to make it good even with all the anxiety that comes with being me.

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image: pinterest

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