Five. Five is the age of imagination, of carefree bliss.
But then five doubles into ten and then another five gets added becoming fifteen and fifteen? Fifteen isn’t happy anymore. Fifteen can’t remember those days of five, with grass stained knees in the summer and blue tinged fingers in the winter because she was playing in the snow for just a bit too long. Fifteen doesn’t remember that warm feeling of being curled up with her mom on the sofa, reading the book she memorized so she could proudly show her parents that she had, in fact, learned to “read.” No. Fifteen has become preoccupied in virtual happiness and the things society tells her will bring her joy. Fifteen, embarrassed by her mother, screams “I told you five times to leave me alone!” Fifteen spends time in the mirror, checking her face five times to see if maybe this time it might look better. Fifteen cares about the likes on her instagram and if five minutes pass and no one liked it, fifteen deletes the post before anyone sees. And then fifteen gets another five and fifteen is twenty and twenty is in therapy, trying to gain back that carefree happiness she had when she was five. Because five is beautiful and five deserves to be recognized. Twenty wouldn’t be who she is now without the four fives that build her up. Five grounds twenty, letting her know five is always there for her so please, please come back.