adult-induced amnesia

my mom told me that there's no such thing as teenage love.


I call bullshit.

I've got this theory that the moment you turn 18, a veil is dropped over your mind and suddenly you forget what it's like to be young

forget every feeling

every emotion

everything

adults tell us that we need to grow up, but they're amnesiacs with a superiority complex so excuse me if I ignore their advice

because they've forgotten.

they've forgotten what it's like to fail that test you studied all night for in the hopes that maybe, just maybe it would bring that stubborn A- up to that ever elusive A.

they've forgotten what it's like to write essays for hours in the hopes that you'll get into that prestigious school you've always dreamt of, and they've forgotten what it feels like when you get rejected and watch your dreams crumble to dusty pieces.

they've forgotten what a curse it is and what a blessing it is to feel deeply enough to skim the ocean floor.

they've forgotten how it feels when he writes his name in permanent marker on your heart

they've forgotten how it feels when you realize that he only let you write yours in pencil.

they've forgotten what how it feels to be told that you don't know what you want and you'll understand when you're older because as a teenager, there's no possible way that anything you are feeling is actually valid.

they've forgotten what it's like to be too young to fall in love but too old to order off of the kid's menu.

they've forgotten what it feels like to be late for curfew and they've forgotten what it feels like to sneak out after curfew.

they've forgotten how high school hallways feel like a little bit like hell and smell like a locker room.

they've forgotten about that couple that always makes out in front of your locker and while you act disgusted, deep down (and I mean deep, deep down) you're actually jealous.

they've forgotten the words to their favorite songs and they'll never understand why those concerts you go to make you feel so alive.

they've forgotten what it's like to plaster on a smile and paint your lips with lies just to make it through another day.

they've forgotten why you write that angsty poetry and why you dress in black and why you listen to those depressing songs on rainy days.

they've forgotten what it's like to rearrange the stars for someone whose telescope lens is pointed at some other constellation.

they've forgotten how to throw care to the wind and maybe common sense too, and how to love too deeply and dance too wildly and care too often and live too fully.

and as 17 creeps closer and closer to 18, I can't help but dread the moment that clock strikes twelve

because I don't want to forget.