So this is seventeen.
It's charm and silence and sighs.
It's longer legs and towering above my head.
It's venturing out alone in a car.
It's struggling and succeeding.
It's struggling and failing.
It's beauty in small moments and watching TV together.
It's independence and complete dependence.
It's being sure and being completely lost.
In many ways, seventeen is nothing new.
He's still him, and I'm still me.
In many ways, seventeen is nothing I've ever known.
It's a strange feeling in my heart, in this space that he occupies, in this chamber, in this place.
My own seventeen was a lot more mystery, a lot more self doubt, a lot more fear.
My own seventeen was painful and strange.
And so this new seventeen is scary, too.
It's letting go, even though I'm not ready.
It's holding on for dear life.