So now I’m twenty-three years old (add thirteen hours and forty-seven minutes for accuracy). Doesn’t feel a whole lot different to twenty-two, but then again, it never really does. My concern over aging seems to surge and retreat. Some days I couldn’t care less that my days were passing me by and that my body falls apart the tiniest bit as every moment flutters past, but others I lie in bed in a quiet panic knowing that my time is running out and that every second spent is gone forever and never coming back. But today, like most days, is one of the former kind. As my life appears in its own right, I’m pretty happy with where my chips have fallen, not that it means I’m going to live idle on them and not change things up a bit, but all of the loneliness, all of the lostness and all of the malice I once had for my own existence and the ways in which it traveled have simply fallen by the wayside. I don’t sit awake at night anymore cursing my life and what I do, I don’t fear dying alone or having to face the day on my own anymore. It’s something I guess I take for granted now, and as far as things go, it’s one of those that I’m more than happy to be able to take for granted. Though it is the fool who forgets the battles past, right now I’m glad that I don’t have to.