Dear Reader

Do you remember the time when we wanted to grow old fast?

I do. I remember that innocent face of childhood. And how much I wanted to grow out of it and become a teenager, an adult.Everything about being old seemed ethereal, exquisite.You know how we used to believe that being 16 or 17 would change the real us. How we used to equate being old with being happy, that our lives would be smoother without any sharp edges.And do you remember how much we would glow when we said When I grow old…? And look at us now. We feel that we are immature even when people think we are strong enough to hold the entire cosmos on our shoulders. We are insecure. We know growing old means seeing the harsh truth, it means finding yourself in dark corridors.It means fading away eventually and that all our deeds would return to dust when we want them to be stars.We know that nor marble nor the gilded monuments of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme.

I recently read a poem called Childhood by Markus Natten. And even though I didn’t get the warm feeling, full of meaning that you get when you read works of maybe, Robert Frost or William Wordsworth, I now do understand the poem. In a sad way, full of longings. I realized that we waste so much of our precious today by thinking of an uncertain future. Even though I had a lovely time back then, unknowingly it was me who intoxicated the joys and innocence of those days. And I just don’t want to do that now. I want to live for today. I don’t want to think of morrow. I want to be infinite in the moment. I just want to…


Author: Aria

An inveterate writer and reader. Suffering from Drapetomania. New to blogging world. Part nerd-part hipster. Living for the moment, for today.

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