A String of Words (Book 1)

Phenomenology

Grown ups don't seem to understand nor see
The difference of our experiences and feelings from theirs
What they once had was theirs
And ours are not theirs

They seem to swat our stories of shared moments
Or reliving lived experience
As if they recognize them for their colors and sounds
For their textures and adrenaline
Alas! They mark them unimportant
Childish even
And inexperienced

But does it have to matter with how old a person is to be called wise?
Doesn't wisdom come in many forms
Being experience most essential?

What does age have to do with the fact that a person can be unadulterately happy
Or disgustingly mellow and broken within the lapse of twenty four hours
If all life's most favorite scenes were plotted in a day's advance?

Grown ups pretend to know
To understand even if there are really some things they don't understand themselves

They don't want to admit it
They hide their secrets under neckties and lipsticks and pretend to know about life and how it works and how best to go with it while they ensure their inner demons and innate nature they deem to be childishness
Are tucked away and faulted for a mistake

Ashamed to reveal vulnerability in a spell of bliss

They don't want to mess up because that's what society expects them to be— to be hollistic, to be Experienced
To not care about reliving the rush of excitement reverberating inside their bones
The magic of not knowing
Silly and simple things seem to matter most and hold the most interesting obscurities of all life's mysteries

Can't there be no comparison with what was they felt before?
To what new ones feel like?
There is no such words as similarities, duplication, and again when it comes to experience

Now comes in short, tiny ticks that quickly morphs into history of ours
Chronicles that can only be remembered but can never be revisited in present tense
So how can people in their own timelines understand how young ones live their days when they don't belong in the same register?
When they don't relate enough to track every synapse dying,
And every labored breath brought by a whisper and a kiss,
Or a child's silent tears when he was insulted by a class room bully
When no one really speaks in first person point of view and being in others shoes?

Does that mean they know better?
That they "feel" more than us?
What they experienced was real and that ours weren't simply because we are years behind their age?
No.
Because we feel in varying intensities and react unpredictably regardless of age or wisdom
And that no one can tell a person the importance of one thing to another because we value and do in different ways

Grown ups are adults
And they may be the youth
Physically they aren't anymore but there are still fragments of childishness left in their souls,
In their minds
And in their hearts
And when chosen to comprehend, They may begin to recognize the smiles we have that may have been theirs before
And the tears we shed that fell from their eyes in the same way before

And for a young heart, we harbor the rarest and realest feelings we hold true and never grow up
And that's the starting point to experiencing
Because we are grown ups and children ourselves