When you’re fourteen, you don’t understand the world around you. You don’t see the beauty of the world, of the people, of even simple things that you are surrounded by. At least, most young people won’t. However, what if there is one person, out of hundreds, who feels alone, haunted, seeks escape from the life he lives because he is so much older than he appears to be?

Age is relative. If you look through articles I have written, my age seems indiscernible. A look at some of my creative writing may put me above fourteen, especially the writing I have done for other sites, and other publishers. However, that does not mean that I am not fourteen. I’m a Canadian boy, barely past puberty, yet what makes me different? What sets me apart from every other teenager I socialize with, talk to and see every day? 

Maturity, plain and simple, defines how old you really are. I define my age by experiences and how I react to them instead of the age of my physical body. I get frustrated when I am treated like a child, like I don’t know what I’m doing and need to be coached through my life. Let me go, let me fly, so I can prove, not just to you but to me, who I really am. If I fall, then I know that I am not different. If I don’t, if I soar above the clouds, then you’ll know. 

I am not just another face in the crowd, not another person waiting for another normal life. Maybe it’s time that I live my life as life, not as a child’s life. My existence must be justified somehow, or else what would my life mean to the world?

I refuse to be another failure, another heart choked by broken dreams. My spirit will not be extinguished, my soul will not die. I will not stop until I have made it clear to myself that I am not just another human, that I am actually someone, something of value to the world and to someone. 

So here I go. Wish me luck.

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