the giant tortoise

This is the blog of Charisa, Pianist, Poet, Actress. Herein my poetry, tempests, exultations, tears and laughter are recorded upon glorious inspiration.

talk to me at dreambig16@hotmail.com

My Photo
Name:
Location: United States

She is red, vibrant, Pulsing to be seen, To be held and caressed. She is a petal releasing fragrance - Deep, scarlet scent; Will he notice? Will he be pleased? Oh agony! He breathes the air straight from her lungs. She is wilting - yet wills him deeper still, to uphold her crumbling strength. He is a god! A golden god. Her soul is bruised with his beauty.

Friday, March 25, 2005

I am going to be 19 in four days.
I never thought I could be nineteen. All through my vivid childhood, filled with delicious fantasies and adventures, the oldest I could imagine myself was 18. But never nineteen, and never, ever 21. I remember thinking that I should love to stay seventeen for at least five years.How I loved the number 17! I loved the way it rolled off my tongue. I loved how immediately I could feel so dashing and bold by just saying the word. I had the most fun when I pretended I was seventeen : a soldier and prisoner of war; a circus slave; a pioneer; a western cowboy; Robin Hood (yes, Robin Hood. I loathed Maid Marian); they were simply horrid if played at any other age but seventeen. And I decided that after I'd had my fill of that number (which was unimaginable) I would turn eighteen and get married. 18 was the perfect age for marriage. Why, you were simply an ugly old maid if you waited much past eighteen to get a husband! I would stay eighteen for the rest of my life, and have five stunningly beautiful and noble children, raise them to be Knights and Ladies, and live happily ever after.
Needless to say, that is not how my life played out. 17 was my favorite year, and I was sorry to see it leave. Eighteen has been even better (though I felt rather traitorous for feeling so), and I have laughed heartily over having ever thought I could get married at this age. Good heavens, you can't get married until you're a woman, and I'm feeling oh so far from being one.
But I am feeling old. Yes, I know that's a glaring sign that I am really awfully young. I've never felt any differant after a birthday, but I'm feeling the effects of being nearly nineteen terribly. It's so final. So close to being grown up, it's tragic. After years of wanting to be nice and old and have splendid adventures, I'm finding myself wildly grabbing on to the wisps of childhood I have left. (If you would like to laugh, do go right ahead. I'm being foolish and comical.) But oh heavens. If we could only spend a few more years as children, it would make us so much happier.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Peter Pan would agree, I'm quite sure.
And, so do I:) Don't let it all go simply because of a number. I hope you never lose the beautiful child likeness you approach life with.
Love, Mom

12:02 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home