Gaining

At the remarkable age of 23,
I am
growing up.
It's not physical this time.
No new inches added to my
height
or
growing pains behind my knees
as my bones stretch.
No.
This change is more subtle, quieter,
perhaps noticeable only to me.
It's not aging.
Not quite.
(Though I am gaining small wrinkles and a grey hair.)
It's not quite wisdom.
Not quite.
(I am far too young for that.)
Perhaps my growing up can be termed
Realization.
Somewhere in the middle between
Wisdom
and
Childhood.
I'm beginning to sense a depth that permeates life.
Sometimes that sense is so fleeting, so quick,
I barely have time to grasp it.
But it lurks in front of me,
just out of reach,
hovering at the tips of my nails.
I want it to become
Tangible
so I can wrap myself completely in this new understanding.
But I get the distinct
impressin that It can never be truly understood,
that part of it must remain
outside my realm of knowing
that forever reaching for It
is part of growing
which, at the age of 23,
I am just beginning to do.