Blinding

It is a good time to be young.

It is rather lovely to still be able to constantly be overwhelmed by all the things we are still new to, to act upon impulse and to fall bruised knowing that we can still afford to make mistakes, being hurt and tasting the thrill of pain on our lips.
To build up big notions and to be terrified by giants and to laugh at them when they turn it to be nothing but shadows, to be so sure of one thing in a moment but somehow find ourselves on the opposite bank, equally as passionate and twice as naive.

The most sincere of heart breaks caught in between breaths with no intentions, exposed and shivering, only those who have more waiting for them have this privilege, because it is in these moments we start to see ourselves most clearly without having to explain. It reminds us of what makes us human.
The young will carry with them the bitter blessing of always feeling too much. Being too happy, and too sad, too attached and too horrible. Our words bite the hardest and our love, well, is the sort that draws the air back out of our lungs. Be it leaving us breathless or to leave us gasping.
We think that we have it all figured out, that we've got all the basis covered and that it might be enough. We are so scared, and so hopeful, and so alive.

Even when I find myself sinking in situations I don't understand weighted down by my own heavy heart, I do realize that in the midst of this temporary wordlessness I know that you are here with me and that moments like this show me just how much you make me feel and how much of a part of me you are and that if this youth is when I shall feel the most and the most intensely, I care not to spend it with anyone but you.


I'm beginning to feel like I'm pulling apart the natural order of things by thinking like this.