Twenty Four

Twenty four... this number carries a different kind of weight in my mouth. Heavier, but not particularly in a bad way, There’s a tingle of fear that develops in my stomach when I pronounce  it out loud, but I don’t think that’s particularly bad either. Ever since I've turned eighteen, and whenever the sun rises and sets hundreds of times over and over in order to reach my birthday, and I tell myself: “You've made it!”… “You've survived for another year!” thanks god for that. Some days I call this aliveness a miracle and other days I would call it fate. Either way I am ecstatic for it; over the moon and back! Because somewhere along the way, in my not so long twenty four years of living, I forgot to want, I forgot to live. But now, where I am constantly overwhelmed with the wonders that life brings, I’m turning into an endless wishing list, into an unfinished painting yet to be completed.  I am learning to be lighter than feather especially on people’s hearts. I’m learning to glow like the moon who isn't bothered by the light of the amount less surrounding stars – that from faraway, look just alike-. I want to slow dance in the middle of a green field, lit by the night skies, on the music of my inner peace.

How can I say it? The world is so big and I am so small, as simple as that! But here I am, surviving another year and still hanging on.