i was old at twenty,
cynical in the ways of love,
having loved and lost a time or two.
i was smarter than i am now,
certain of my conclusions and stances,
able to categorize the world neatly into black and white.
i was deep and bottomless,
a well of emotions and important feelings routinely emoted,
a swinging pendulum that vacillated from despair to euphoria.
i lived and time passed.
i watch the me that was and marvel at the pretentiousness,
amusing now that i know
that twenty is only a toe in the shallows of all that will come.
i’m younger now at forty,
innocent and inexperienced,
unprepared for the vastness of emotion that life offers.
undereducated and ill-equipped,
but aware of my lacking knowledge,
growing more accepting,
seeing now life’s tones and shadows and greys.
i am flip and glib and skate the surface,
more careful with my heart and soul.
time brings an understanding of how low you can fall.
i am more than i thought, and
everything is bigger and sharper and infinitely more complex,
and the only certainty i have is that
i’m not fully grown.