How Old Would You Know Yourself to Be? Part 1

“How old do you know yourself to be?” She stopped drinking her mint tea and looked up, and there in front of her face, was herself.

She sat on the sill of her window and although she was looking outward, she wasn’t actually watching anything happening outside. As usual, she was daydreaming. There was a certain feel to days like this one. She didn’t have words for many feelings and moments. She preferred to just live in them and let them be unnameable as they oftentimes were. She had what her grandmother called a recycled soul. Despite being only twenty-four years old, She had a presence that was far beyond her years. She knew things and kept to herself often despite being what the world proclaimed an “extrovert”. She talked a lot, sometimes about nothing. Most days, she was a regular twenty-four year old woman, mischievous and naive and not yet hardened by the world. But then on some days, she was old, weathered, and tired and simply missed the other part of herself. With deep caramel colored skin and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold the world, she would sit on days like this and stare. The same youth would transform into that of a wise, genderless being who refused to conform to universal norms and simply wanted to return home and experience peace. But peace was not yet within reach. There were things on this earth that still needed to be done. Her small studio apartment in Los Angeles didn’t overlook much. Staring out the window, she saw desert hills and people jogging. She had only moved here three months ago and wasn’t yet used to anything the city offered. The sun always shone, and it seemed that the city was constantly unfolding before her eyes. Now, she thought about how she could find a way to slow down. Los Angeles was a slow city that was always on a grind. Everyone didn’t seem to be working and yet, all they did was work.

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