Preconceived requiem for a teenager.

Five months, nine days, four hours, fifty minutes and thirty-nine seconds. The word “teenager” floats away from me. The experiences of a teenager float away from me. Opportunities of silliness, recklessness and naiveté are lost. Instead, they’re replaced by responsibility, seriousness and logic. I am ready to move on to adulthood, but there is one part I am reluctant to skip. A piece currently missing, leaving a hole. On my road through adolescence, I don’t want to drive past the pitstop called “love” without stopping. I don’t want to settle for having crushed, without walking through liking and loving. Having looked, without running through flirting and kissing. I want emotional butterflies. I want emotional rollercoasters. I want emotional everythings. And I want it before age taints me. I want the sort of stuff you read books about, see movies about, hear songs about. Almost 20 and as untouched as a girl can be, in every way you can imagine. A damn shame.