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.