She grew up on her own; stretched her wings and flew too fast, too soon. She barely remembers what being in a sandbox is like, or how it feels to fall and skin her knee and have someone other than herself calm the tears. She was her own mother and she failed; she let herself fall apart.
Women are a novelty to her now. She doesn’t know how to be a strong one and admires those that do. She’s too old to still be learning how to be herself, she thinks, though she knows others would tell her differently. It doesn’t matter what they say, to her she should be all grown up, and not being there makes her a failure.
Early twenties in body, pre-teen in mind and spirit, she clings to the “grown-ups” she knows, denying herself the opportunity to learn and grow from those who most likely know best what she is going through. It’s a beautiful thing when she finds someone who satisfies both parts of her, but the relationship always ends; stalls when she has clung too fast and too hard and scared them away.
She imagines that one day her two parts will merge together and she will become one whole person with one whole spirit, but she is also terrified of that day. Is this maybe who she is supposed to be; should she be less afraid of herself and more afraid that she will lose herself?
It’s a subconscious decision to embrace the pre-teen, but she makes it all the same, her adult self hoping that she turns out to be who she is supposed to be and who others will enjoy at the same time. She figures the growth will come when it is supposed to, even if she is a little late to the party.
