By Liam
They say I am growing old, that time is stripping me of who I once was, leaving behind only regret and solitude.
But no, what they mistake for age is something else entirely. I am not fading; I am maturing.
I have ceased to be the shape into which others wished to mold me.
I no longer hunger for approval, no longer lean into mirrors that distort rather than reveal.
Instead, I have turned inward, where quietude inspires truth.
I am not withdrawing,
I am choosing.
Choosing where my soul feels at home, with whom my spirit truly sings.
Let’s uplift rather than constrain,
Let’s create thoughts which nourish rather than consume.
Not from indignation, but in reverence for my own well-being.
I have traded restless nights for wakeful learning, exchanged borrowed stories for those now woven with my own hands.
No longer hidden beneath the disguises of expectation,
I carry not masks but books, each page a window, each word a light.
No, I am not growing old. I am unfolding.
There is a fresh pulse in my soul, a child’s wonder still alive in my heart.
The cocoon I once clung to is breaking open, and what emerges will soar to places untouched by those bound only to the weight of this world.
I smile now with the ease of one who knows that simplicity is sacred.
I walk more slowly, not from weariness but from a desire to see what others rush past.
I hold silence, not because I lack words, but because not all words are meant to be spoken.
No, I am not growing old.
I am beginning, at last, to become alive.
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