That just makes me a dumb human, like you.

Watch now no matter who you are.

It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hangs away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawn and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.

—Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for all the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did.

—Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn’t.

—Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.” -Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Infinity.

By definition, the state of being limitless or endless in space. Although, George Orwell’s standards aside, also endless in emotion. A gaping hole for unbound sentiment that only slow motion can create enough time to fill. As most things beautiful and organic, Stephen Chbosky’s words has been bastardized by the hopeless romantic teenage girl who dreams of being infinite while laying with a boyfriend under an array of stars that everyone sees yet everyone feels is singularly and personally special to them. 

Infinite isn’t about forever. It’s about a moment that fulfills you forever. To an instantaneous injection of joy, that enters straight through a vein and forever remains in the blood stream. 

I felt infinite while at a loss of breath from the laughter in the passenger seat of your car. When the inarticulacy brought on by hysteria slows down time to a long overdue hiatus that lasts the same duration as every tear one’s ever shed. It’s funny, really, how I have to rifle through my unorganized boxes of memories to recall why we were laughing. Most things seem to go even quicker than they come. Like the memories; the irreplaceable view outside the car windows, or the music playing in the background. Just not the laughter- that was infinite. 

Or when we were laying sprawled on the couch. Every sip that we drank regurgitating back up at competitive speed in the form of confessions. Us three, whether we trust each other by love or by the fact that we have equal amount of blackmail on each other, not judging or caring, only accepting. Accepting the present of that moment, which we will forever, infinitely accept. The coordination and judgement of that night more than obscured, but not the link of hands and dependence as we piled on one another on the couch- that was infinite.

Adults criticize the desires of teens. Pretentiously scold us for feeling invincible and impenetrable. They will never know just how spot-on correct they are.  

So scold us, Adults. Criticize us for retaining the optimism you bestowed on us as children. For trusting you when you told us we could be anything, anybody, that we wanted. For feeling invincible while we are still young enough for the excuse of naiveness.  For keeping hope, even your examples didn’t succeed. I know I am not immortal. I know I have more to learn. But excuse me for trying to cherish what I can while I can because I want to someday fill with a nostalgia that makes me feel warm inside. Complete. Fulfilled.

I want to feel infinite.                                                                                               In the most adolescent way possible.