Exactly five days until my birthday. The fateful day I turn nineteen.
I use fateful in the sarcastic way, as nothing really happens when you turn nineteen. Your hair doesn't fall out, you don't suddenly grow anything that wasn't there before, you aren't legal to drink for 2 more years. So all in all it is just a reminder that you are one year older and not really any different than you were perhaps even the day before.
Apart from of course the birthday celebrations itself of course.
Basically, what I am trying to say is that I miss those days when I was little and waited for what seemed like years (even though it was really just days) for the cake piled high with icing, shaped as whatever I liked at the moment, and the presents (oh how I miss the presents), so many, with colorful wrappings, which seemed like they could be anything (although they were clearly box shaped and probably held a doll).
I miss those days, those where my only care in the world was if my toys got dirty from playing with them outside.
Where did the years go, and where, most importantly, did that small little girl, with her head filled with wonderment, disappear off to?
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