And yet,
I find myself
At the beginning of adulthood.
Not adult enough,
But no longer a child.

My hair falls
Like the leaves in autumn,
A sign that I am still growing.
Out of my clothes of old,
Out my friends of years,
Out of life.

That these fallen hairs will soon turn grey,
But not everything that is grey is old.
However, freshly poured concrete
And sleek laptops
Can soon turn into heavy elephants
And shore-laid rocks,
Witnessing the ebb and flow as time flies.
© Myth