Have you ever grown out of something? Like, how something used to be very dear to your heart. Maybe it was an old toy or a television show or book or a person. You’d find yourself being drawn back time and time again.
And then you would tell yourself to quit—to quit for real, because you never seemed able to. And when you quit, when you finally managed to stay away for an extended period of time, you just want one more look back at your childhood. You want just one recollection of the time where you spent immaturity and started to grow up. And you just want—you just want one night to reminisce and feel nostalgic for a happier self.
So, one day when you have little to no obligations, you decide to do it. That is, you recollect what you’d previously sworn off. So you look through old things: photographs or writings or dusty stuffed animals. And you know that your memories of looking at these will fade the way the photographs and your memories of the photographed faded. And you’ll start feeling something—perhaps sadness or loss—because you can never relive those memories once they’re lost.
You’ll look at your large hand, clutching the photograph, now cracked and wrinkled and twice as large as the hand that previously held the item. And you’ll realize, though you’re still the same person, you’ve changed. And that you’ve finally grown up through something. And that will mark the start of the period called “growing up.”
The other children will want to know how you do it, this so-called “growing up.” But don’t tell them. Let them retain their innocent selves a little longer—as long as they can. Because childhood is like memories.
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Just a small something I wrote this morning.
Song: Like We Used To by A Rocket to the Moon