Golden Years

I have mastered time. I know everything good will come so I’ll live each day with the sun and give it my best.

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I was so sure I’d made an outstanding statement only to receive a deafening laugh as applause. Later that night, I got a picture of me two years ago… and what!!!

Tissue after tissue got tossed in the bin, scrunched and wet. I had grown, in ways I didn’t even know. That innocent, spotless face had gained lines from events it didn’t expect life to offer; dark spots from days I had the leaving-the-door minute as the only time in front of the mirror; pouched eyes from nights burnt away in front of fat books. I didn’t care to look down; there was nothing exciting to see.

Staring at what seemed to be the best of me, I realized it wasn’t just the new contours that made me different.

 I’d gained resilience and tenacity with each new line that formed. I learned impossibility was a word I had to spell right because I was in fourth grade not a noun that defined any part of my existence and that I could get what I wanted out of life.

Dark spots were growth spurts on days my soul cried for change louder than any voice that had preached to me and kept me knee down before my maker seeking for newness of mind.

Though I had a better laugh the first night I heard my friend say age is a number, time had thought me that life is worthless until purpose is defined and lived out. It didn’t matter when a calendar kept a record as it was just another object of restriction.

The pain of ageing wasn’t gray hairs, folds and wrinkles but unfulfillment ascribing wasted to years of youthfulness.

Though sixteen has passed and fifty is far away… I’m walking into my ideal and days may keep chasing days but the years will be golden when I’ve lived out my purpose

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