I'm sixteen, yet I feel eighteen. Living the adult life is draining. Honestly, I'm not sure how I got here. Don't worry—I'll explain in a minute. Remember when you were young, and had to enjoy solitude for three years? Or when you learned that family couldn’t be trusted? Or when, at six, you had to keep a secret— one you kept for close to nine years? Remember the sting of betrayal, and your resolve after that? Remember every incident of bullying, and how you stood tall amidst it all? Remember what “love” felt like, how it came crashing down? Remember how different you’ve felt, even from your friends? Remember every bruise, every wound, every scar. The reason you feel older is simply that you’re wiser. You have understanding far beyond your years. You’ve dealt with things you haven’t dared to write. So be happy you feel eighteen, for it’s only a blessing— proof that every scar is a lesson, to forge that which is broken into utter perfection.