i’m 21 years old. for just a few more days. some days i feel 80 some days i feel 8. rarely an in between. too young or too old. this is the age they told me that would fit just right. this is the age 30 year olds squeeze themselves into on friday nights with spanx and a cigarette. this is the age 8 year olds think that they’ll be when they fall in love forever and ever. this the age where i’m either in bed at 9 pm or 4 am and i will probably wake up feeling kind of horrible. this is the age where there are more questions than answers and i’m excited, not scared. this is the age where kids and jobs and mortgages feel further away than juice boxes; but they’re lurking in the background and if you turn your head to quickly to the right you might just catch a glimpse of yourself wearing running shoes with jeans and a toddler attached to your hip. this is the age when weeks last years and years last days and nights are what really matter. it all seems like magic. and you’re not really sure if you believe in magic still. you’re as thin and as pretty and as young as you will ever be but you can’t really notice. you’re too busy trying to boil pasta. and that’s what it is. caught in between, pulled two directions. its good and its bad and its beautiful. it’s twenty one. 

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