Youth

I’ve fallen into a bad habit of writing all my stories in my head.

I lay down at night and let my mind conjure long paragraphs that don’t find the page. As I hover between sleep and reality, there’s a peace to the piece of me that can’t help but continue down twisting narratives.

I recently turned thirty-one years old.

I’m at a moment where I get to decide what that means to me.

I’ve been so focused on pursuing one specific goal, that I’ve found myself startled at the possibility of others.

Or maybe it’s understand the cost of time and losing the fearlessness of youth.