I envy how they exist—just to be loved and taken care of. Just to be held and played with and smiled at. Just to be the wonderful, fragile, mind-blowing creation that they are.
We are not terrible people, we are a people that is simply using its resources and trying to stay alive in a society that repeatedly attacks us for using what we have to our advantage, while stereotyping us as a whole.
I found myself reminded of that thirteen-year-old feeling of being unable to communicate, of being so aware of your being, but so unaware of your place.
They want to live, experience life, and learn. They want to feel fulfilled, excited and have an opportunity to get to know themselves.
I like loving you like this. Like high school. Like silly, like stolen sips of whiskey, like Saturday afternoons with the whole weekend ahead of us. I like knowing we’re each other’s everythings. That we’re booth too young and foolish to know any better. To know that love hurts like hell.
I know I’m not the first twenty-something to go through this sort of experience. To have someone roll their eyes, shake their head, or chastise you via social media because you’re just that—a twenty-something—and thus you apparently know nothing about life.
iOS upgrades are the spawn of the devil, and you usually ignore them for a month until your phone finally tricks you into clicking “Install” when you’re half-asleep or drunk.
Remember the determined young person you used to be. And believe in yourself again.
Don’t relinquish part of you before you’re whole yourself. Be selfish, be your own better half, because self-awareness is arguably the most important form of intelligence.
Sure, you can craft a cover letter like nobody’s business, but that doesn’t mean your room is as organized as your well written “about me” section.