As I examine these pencil ticks on the cream-colored wall,
I realize I've grown up so much.
I see the small stretch marks on my hips from last year's growth spurt,
And see that I'm becoming quite the young woman.
While I'm doing my algebra homework,
I think that I've gotten so much smarter than I was when I was memorizing the alphabet song.
When I look through these old pictures of us, sitting in sand, faces painted in ice cream,
I remember how childish we once were, and how we've now matured.
But sometimes, when I'm next to this pile of photo albums,
I wonder why we aren't like this anymore.
I wonder if getting older, and taller, and smarter, and more mature
Is something that is really worth trading pure happiness for.