Still thirteen

Everyone has time. Some people have less of it, others more. We all live surrounded by the construct of it; sometimes we are lost in it—feel trapped by it.

Time has never seemed to be my friend, and now, as a rising senior, I’ve realized how heavy the weight of time really is. I have dreams, once in a blue moon, where I am walking the halls of my elementary school, enveloped by the bright colors, warm air, and brick-lined walls. Embraced by all the things I once loved. All my friends will crowd together on the playground; we play tag, running as the breeze runs its hands through our hair, and the sun kisses our cheeks. In this moment, I wish time would stand still. I wish to relish in this moment forever, but soon I’ll wake up, and repeat my routine, dragging myself from class to class until the final bell rings and I am home. That same night I will sleep to dream, and a dream will never come.

I’ve had these dreams constantly, whether they be elementary school, middle school, or even my freshman year. I have these dreams so vivid I can feel the thickness of the air. I get to relive my life when I didn’t know what was to come and, quite frankly, I didn’t care. Yet now that all changes.

In a few months I’ll be 18. Around this time next year, I believe I’ll be in college, and the preparation to get there is what the next few months of my calendar will be filled with.

I must focus on the future; I can’t be carefree, and in the end this, I know, will swallow me whole. I will lose hours, minutes, seconds trying to prepare for the next years of my life; will I be able to sit back and make time count this year?

I couldn’t tell you...

B ut I hope the crisp fall air is filled with sun and laughter, the winter loving and kind, the spring supple and bountiful, the summer slow. Slow enough I can enjoy the sun, Slow enough that I can make these moments count before moving onto the next.

As I said earlier, I’ve now realized how heavy the weight of time really is. How every second truly does count, how your time truly is what you make of it. It’s been five years since middle school. That’s about 43,824 hours, 2,629,440 minutes, and roughly 157,766,400 seconds. Five years have passed, and I feel like I have yet to move alongside time, I feel unmoved, spiritually indifferent. Five years have passed, and deep down I want to run away from it. In the months to come, I will feel as though I’m still thirteen.