January 5, 2019•206 words
It's 2019, which means I'm turning 18 in 3 mere months. I can't stop it, I can't shove the months back, they are like clouds and I am an airplane. Undeterred.
I don't want to! I feel like throwing a temper tantrum like a child. I remember last year I wrote the same thing in my blog about the year 17. I wish I could be 11 again. I wish Call Me Maybe had just been released and Minecraft was cool. I want my family's silver kia spectra back. I want to watch Smosh on YouTube and PewDiePie playing horror games. I wish I could experience my first slumber party again and that my friends and I were still walking sock foot on asphalt roads on pink summer evenings. Or sitting atop the cement box in front of the convenience store. I want it all back. It slipped away too quickly. Memories like dry grains of sand through my fingers.
I'd trade everything from 2018/19 for 2012/14 - the alcohol, the cars, the sex and the maturity. I love my life as it is right now, but it'll never be the same as those days. Even just for a day I wish I could go back.