Young Endings

I just went past my 20th birthday a few days ago and for some reason that seems like a significant number and it did get me thinking about a lot of things. 20 doesn’t feel too different. Not yet at least. 

Ever since the day

Where I could hold a pen

And place it on paper

I must have known,

Surely,

That it could not last.

For there are times

Even when I was young

That I felt the finite of things

Even though they were far away.

Some part of me always knew

That all this would someday end.

But maybe I am still young

Maybe I still feel the words

Float out of that pen

The same as then.

And just like then,

I don’t care if it ends,

Even though I feel it.

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