Always

Do rites of passage through the years mean the right to cry? 
Have I grown more human through the trying years from which I was meant to learn the most or am I just more jaded?
Have wisdom and fortitude maintained their good reputation, or do I just turn numb? Shrug off the tears, perfect the perfunctory grins and live. And live....

The dizzying effects of adulthood rekindle a similar confusion of the 12 year-old version of myself—when I wasn’t sure how to feel after all of that intrusive blood imposed itself all over me. Perhaps the half that stayed young and childish has finally matured to meet that half-woman I became decades ago. Pleased to meet me?