The Weight of a Timeless Heart

    There is a lyric that has lingered in my mind lately, “My skin is very young, but my heart is very old.” It captures an uncanny feeling, as if someone has placed their finger on a truth I couldn’t articulate. How can you be so young, yet feel the weight of decades in your chest? How can you carry the wisdom of experience without having lived long enough to earn it? That lyric encapsulates the strange duality of my life—of many lives, I’d imagine.

    I’ve spent countless days chasing after happiness, hoping that the next milestone or achievement would bring me the fulfillment I’ve been searching for. I believed that if I gathered enough—more success, more love, more validation—I would finally feel complete. And yet, here I am, surrounded by everything I once dreamed of, realizing that fulfillment was never hidden in these external things. It’s a sobering realization, one that’s both freeing and heavy.

    We live in a world that glorifies the pursuit of “more.” More money, more recognition, more influence. But what if happiness isn’t about the pursuit? What if it’s about acceptance? I’ve come to understand that happiness isn’t a permanent state; it’s fleeting, a whisper carried by the wind. It’s found in the mundane moments: the laughter shared with someone who truly sees you, the quiet solace of a sunset, the gentle hum of existence when you’re still and present.

    That’s what it means to have a timeless heart—to feel both the joy and the sorrow, to carry the weight of every triumph and every mistake, and to understand that these moments, no matter how small, are the essence of being alive.

    But here’s the raw truth: one day, my story will end. One day, or maybe today, after I write this, I’ll close my eyes for the last time. And that’s okay. I don’t say this to be morbid or defeatist but to embrace the reality of impermanence. I’ve stopped fearing the end because I’ve come to see that life’s value isn’t measured in its length but in its depth. Did I love fully? Did I forgive generously? Did I leave behind something that mattered?

    If I could leave you with one thing, it’s this: Stop waiting. Stop waiting for the perfect moment, for the ideal circumstances, or for someone else to tell you that you’re enough. You already are. Live now. Love now. Laugh now. The moments you spend waiting are moments you’ll never get back.

    Perhaps my “old heart” is a gift—a reminder that even though the days feel heavy and my mind sometimes feels ancient, I still have a choice. I can choose to let the weight crush me, or I can choose to let it shape me. And I choose the latter.

    I’ve often wondered why we’re so afraid of being vulnerable. Maybe it’s because vulnerability feels like weakness, like opening the floodgates to chaos. But I’ve learned that vulnerability is the source of true connection. It’s in those moments of raw honesty, when we let others see our cracks, that the light pours in. So, embrace your fragility. Wear your heart on your sleeve. Let the world see the beauty of your imperfections, because those imperfections are what make you human.

    And in those fleeting moments of clarity, when I’ve stopped chasing and started being, I’ve found a peace that words can’t capture. It’s the peace of knowing that I’m not here to be perfect—I’m here to be real. To laugh, to cry, to stumble, and to rise again. To leave behind not a legacy of perfection, but a legacy of authenticity.

    So, if my name fades away one day, let it fade with the echoes of a life that embraced every moment. Let it fade with the memory of someone who loved, who lived, who tried. Let it fade with the knowledge that I didn’t just exist—I experienced. I hope my story, however brief, becomes a reminder for you to do the same.

    Because when it’s all said and done, the weight of a timeless heart isn’t a burden. It’s a blessing. It’s the essence of what it means to live. I may have a very young skin, but my heart is very old.