and what used to be went up in flames.
wrinkles hold stories of triumphs and tribulations.
the gray rain changes with us as we age.
i’m no longer 12, now 17, and i finally feel like i’m truly fine.
it doesn’t stop hurting just because you’re older.
alive for sixteen, almost seventeen years.
we would never exist as we do now without our past mistakes.
like an old painting, my dreams are faded.
when wrinkles deepen, your smiles last longer.
the digital age has come and the delicate pages of paperhas disappeared in a whirlwindof typable keys and strained eyes.