White hairs taking refuge in my widows peak, the forefront of my hairline. Its like they know.

Right where everyone can see. Slightly camouflaged now, by some of the remains of an old highlight job, I'll probably be salt n' pepper by the age 27. The joke is on them however, will it bug me. Nope. Even at the young age of 24? Nope. I won't die it or pluck it either. It is what it is. Age is nothing but a mile marker. It does not prohibit where you are going, or where you want to go. It does not track your speed, or change the rules. It simply gives a visible reference of where you are and where you have been. There's nothing at age 24 that I couldn't do at age 23 and there is nothing that I have done at 23 that I still cannot do now or in the future. Maybe my naivety precedes me, but I don't want to ever let it become an excuse. Instead an opportunity for all of the new ruckus and adventure that will ensue. Life's a blast, lets rock it hard