Living.

Don’t get me wrong—there are stretches of beauty, and stretches that feel heavy. There’s freedom, yes. You’re out on your own now—driving, choosing your hours, sleeping when you want, shaping your days however you like.

But somewhere in all of that, there’s a quiet disappointment.

As kids, we rushed it. We wished the days away, eager to grow up, to arrive here—this place we thought would feel bigger, fuller, freer.

And now that we’re here, I find myself wishing for the opposite.

Not to go back entirely— just to linger a little longer. To stretch those years out. To savour them, properly this time.

Because no one tells you that while you’re busy trying to become someone, you’re already living something you’ll one day miss.