I've just read a piece by a person with possibly the most mature mind I've ever come across. That is, the most mature mind for his age. I've never met him. In fact, my friend just forwarded his piece to me and demanded that I read it.

He's fifteen.

Sure, a sophomore or so in high school. Should be a decent writer. Have the hang of grammar and spelling. Still learning. Etc. But no, this piece I read is beyond that. Beyond any other piece I've read by other fifteen year olds. Given, I can't compare him to every fifteen year old, but I can compare to the few I know.

Now, I'm just about to turn eighteen at the end of this month. I've been writing poetry since eigth grade and prose since ninth. At those points, I had a slight flair which only encouraged me to improve. Today, I've improved and have some confidence, but I'm not a goddess in literature. More like, I am just an average person with a whole lot more room to grow. I admit that my pieces have room for much improvement. I understand what I have to work on, but sometimes it's harder to move forward and easier to stay where you are, in your comfort zone.

This person surpasses me. At least, that's my opinion. If I didn't know he was fifteen while I was reading, I would think he was older, someone with much experience. And you might think that fifteen isn't that young, that it would be amazing if he was in middle school. That's not my point. My point is that this kid blew me away with his writing. When I was done with the piece, the piece he claimed was unfinished and missing parts, I was in awe and I was speechless.

It just boggles me even though I shouldn't be surprised. There are numerous talented people in the world. It's just that some get lucky breaks and others stay where they are, striving for more.

A part of me envies him deeply. The fact that he has found his talent, his passion already stirs jealousy. Why? Simple. Because I'm at one of the crucial stages in my life: I'm going to college. Right now, I know of no obvious talent that stirs passion within me. Writing is the only thing that comes close to it. I can't even pursue writing. I'm not sure what is ahead of me and I don't even have anything to point or nudge me that way. On top of that, I've been searching for something that brings me passion, something that I can say that I'm good at and that I can live with the rest of my life doing without ever tiring. I'm not there yet with writing. I'm not sure if I ever will or if I'll ever find that thing.

That's why. I give him major props, I applaud him, and I envy him. I've never even met the kid.

- Andrea

P.S. I realize that the title really doesn't relate much to the post itself. In my defense, I wrote the title first. Haha.

On another note, this really reminds me how little time I actually spend on deviantART. I keep saying that I'll do more, but I never do. I never get around to it. This reminds me that I need to read more, to expose myself to more.

Hm... we'll see. It's a long-term goal. I'll stick with just this one to see how I'll do.