No one ever writes about nineteen.
When all you live on is a dream.
When all you search for is an answer.
And all you find is more questions.
When all you remember is how easy sixteen was.
And all you face is the whole world, your whole life and your whole future, balancing like a pitcher of water over your head.
Nineteen, when you still feel like a kid, but yet so much older then all the stupid kids.
When you're too old to make mistakes, and too young to be taken seriously.
When all you want is to grow up.
When all you want is to go back.
No one ever writes about nineteen, and how absolutely frightening it can all be.
When the only thing dragging you to twenty is a dream.
The dream that one day you'll figure it out.
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