不安分的黑色

A spring that hasn't been quite a spring is drifting off
all the same.

A summer that has already tired us is intensifying
all the while it has not even arrived.

And I am aging.
All the same.
All the while.
And I don't feel sorry.

This is all I can live
with these eighteen years.
Almost nineteen.
Especially the days that made, and still make it
almost nineteen.

Enrichment to an extent brings about bewilderment.
But that's just fine.
Nothing is more true than chaos.

Perhaps somewhere deep inside,
there still exists that little stubborn and upright girl.
Not very bright, and not very humorous I must say.
But I think she is still there.

And I think she can be loved too.

A toast to those nearly-nineteen years
from the day the family gave birth to me
that have made me who I am
and gave me all that I hold.

This is your last eighteen-year-old,
ignite it like every day you did.

Live life.

Love life.