saturday morning

i sat in the rising light of a long night and held what was left of my youthful face in my hands, and tried to cry for what i’ve lost, what might have been and never was, and also for what most certainly will be … aging. oldness. if this is when it’s over, well then, let it be. and let me be in peace, let me live like this. older. no.

wait. i am not old just yet. shit. no. i may not have my youth but i have my damnable immaturity and so what? so bite me. so fuck this. i’m not getting old yet. it’s still early. it’s still early.

15 thoughts on “saturday morning

  1. You are sooo NOT old.
    Next time make your own fort with chairs and get under there with a novel and some cookies. You’ll feel much better. Actually I don’t bother with forts – I have the couch, but it’s really a boat see, and I have to have books and provisions on it – but if I need to I can make it to the kitchen because the carpets are really islands see, it’s only the wood floor that’s shark infested ocean….

  2. At the very least, Diane Arbus said ‘fuck it’… wait. That’s not a very good example.

    Well, I’m sure Ms. O’Keefe said ‘fuck it’ as well.

  3. and that was…. fivethirty? and now it’s …. ninethirty? yeah. four hours of sleep make me feel YOUNG.

    no seriously. it’s like being a kid again. immaturity rocks.

    i think i’m going to to the beach today.

  4. We are not old. We are mature. No, wait. We’re not really mature either, are we? Um…I’m not sure what we are, but I’m with you–fight fight fight!! 😀

  5. You will never be as young as you are today ever again. You might feel younger at some point, but that’s just your mind fucking with you.

  6. no matter what age we are on the outside, we never seem to mature much beyond the 18th birthday on the inside . . . that’s us gals . . . they guys don’t seem to make it past 16 on the inside of their eyeballs. Or so the hubby says.


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