Growing Up

Growing up means a lot of things, it means your heart's going to hurt more, your mind's going to remember less, and your feet are going to mold to different sizes, and different sizes until you don't truly know what's comfortable or not.

growing up means compromising, it means locking yourself up on purpose. My favorite pair of red boots sold at a yard sale for 5o cents. I was six years old, or younger, dancing away on a platform at a farmshow. I twirled on my heels until my laces came undone. I was free. I spent my days in a glorious relief that we, as we grow older, will all come to miss, should we remember ourselves at all.

my life was always rinse and repeat, until a certain March of 2009. After that I was happier, I smiled more, for once it was like I was twirling and twirling. I was home again. I was happy.

This month, it was my heart that went on sale. I'm guessing it's sitting somewhere in a landfill or was used as fishing bait, because it's somewhere now beyond my grasp. And I'm growing up, and I'm scared.

I wonder if people ever stop and think of the stories behind the things they buy, think about the results of hurting someone they lied to. I wonder if they write it off as 'growing up.'

I wonder...