The Truth Behind Perfection by Milica

I don't believe it when people say these are the best years of my life. The best years of my life are going to be the last 20. I will be someone's beautiful grandmother. With soft, pale skin, dark hair with strands of silver that fall over my eyes that are sparkling green, and always seem to be laughing with faint wrinkles that proved my life was a success. I'll have smile lines that run from the bottom of my round nose to the corners of my lips that are always curved slightly up and are still soft and pink. My hands will be tender and the veins will show trough my skin like blue straws in a glass of milk. I'll wish I could come back to now just so I could hold my own hand, but I'll know that without these times I would never make it to then. Those will be my best years. These are the hard ones. Becoming that smiling oracle is a long road, made even harder because I know now what I'll understand then...my age just won't let me believe it. And no matter how much wisdom I hold it cannot be of use to me until I've gone through the experiences that are the gifts of growing up. Because apparently you have to learn the lessons, even if you already know the answers. So, I'll wait for those days. I will love , I will feel heartache, I will be joyous, I will be frustrated, I will want it all to be over, and then when it is I'll miss all the firsts, and I'll understand what I know now, and maybe I'll think that these were the best years of my life.