growing up

I was lying in bed, next to him,
talking about music and such. "I miss the old days," I told him.

How cliche that a independence-craving seventeen year-old female misses the simplicities of life, right? You win, Tracey. I'm just a statistic. I miss car rides (for free) and not being involved your ridiculous and childish "adult" business. I miss not knowing the difference between the two, or actually, knowing that there is no difference at all. I miss when foreplay was satisfactory. I miss when thoughts of "job" left me with images of briefcases and desks and a (much) older me. I miss writing notes and letters, and I miss receiving them. Butterflies in my coat pocket. I miss when staying up late at night entailed imagining things, not a mental-note of all of the upcoming tasks. I miss when a favor was a favor, not a "contribution to the family (what family?)." I miss when I could be content with the fact that my weekend plans were "Cartoon Cartoon Fridays" and ONE Saturday Morning. I miss when I could look up to almost anybody older than me, and now there's just nobody at all. Just me and my responsibilities.

"Yeah, me too," he said. We stared at the ceiling.

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