Eighteen or so.

The problem with being a kid is being the kid others define. The kid who doesn't know what intangible means. The kid who easily forgets delight and walks away without memory, without gratitude. That who knows no reading between lines, who feels no pain or pleasure other than hers. That who is numb of what exists outside her world. The kid who doesn't care.

That who is innocent. That who misses the point and takes things as they are. That who agrees without thoughts of what could really be. That who believes truth can lie on the surface of words. That who doesn't know what to do when. That who is naive. The kid who doesn't know.

That who easily gives in. That who time can deceive. That who stands not firm, who loses discretion in the brightness of shiny things. That who sees wrong but doesn't mind, who gags but is actually fine. That who swears never but is on the verge of doing. That who can't hold back. The kid who is weak.

That who can only attempt at big things. That who tries to stretch boundaries but cannot even reach them. That who trembles at the sight of far ground, who breaks at the slightest absence of balance. That who will always not care, not know, not grow. The kid who is always a kid.

The problem with being a kid is being the kid others define, and trying to make a new definition while knowing perfectly how no one would understand.