I turn sixteen. Not four or twenty, but somewhere in between;
a grown fern, a gold flare: I feel bold and already very old.
I have sixteen years of thoughts and fears behind me (mountain and sea):
all well-wrought and welded knots on an ongoing seam.
I have around 100 pages left for Love in the Time of Cholera, and I will stomach another 50 before bed tonight, hopefully.