I feel like I’m so preoccupied with insecurities and doubts - about my appearance, about school, about my future career - to realize I’m the youngest I’ll ever be again. there are going to be days where I would die to be 19 again, days where I can’t remember the difference between 17 and 25 because I think in bundles of years now. soon I’ll be 65 and I won’t remember what it feels like to feel the vigor and power of running, I won’t remember feeling naive, I won’t remember feeling radiant and strong and curious. I can’t imagine myself in an older woman’s body with an older woman’s mind. I don’t want to age, I don’t want the pain of finally realizing just how fleeting life is, no matter how fulfilling it was, I don’t want the pain of reflecting on my life, looking backwards, dreaming backwards, instead of forward
(via flowury)
