I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to get older, to see myself deteriorate, to watch my youth slip away like grains of sand through my fingers. I don’t want to see my skin wrinkle, to hear the creak of my joints as I move and feel my muscles stiffen. To be forced to endure my senses dulling, sights and sounds and smells slowly being muffled. To slowly age and watch my body wither and crumble, helpless to stop my slow march towards death. I want to stay young and fresh forever, without watching myself shrink and hunch over, my voice rasp and my memories begin to fade, to lose my grip on lucidity. But most of all, I don’t want to be surrounded by the healthy, strong people like I used to be. Watching them laugh and talk and smile, full of excitement and energy, their lives peaking, each second making them stronger, healthier, before the wheel turns and they slam down into the harsh cruelty of old age. I don’t want that to be my fate. To be forced to bear witness to the destruction of myself, of my mind and body, of who I am is the worst fate I can imagine. I want to stay pure, untainted by disease or age. I don’t want to weaken into death, where I will only be remembered as a ghost, until my name slips from peoples’ minds and I am disremembered entirely. For that is what will happen, isn’t it? I will turn from a spring of vitality into an old husk, ancient and shaking, then to nothing more than a name, present only in memory, until finally, I am nothing. Forgotten. Gone, forever.