We do not grow absolutely,
chronologically.
We grow sometimes in one dimesion,
and not in another, unevenly.
We grow partially. We are relative.
We are mature in one realm,
Childish in another.
The past, present, and future
mingle and pull us backward,
forward, or fix us in the present.
We are made up of
layers, cells, constellations.
Anais Nin
20th-Century American Author and Poet
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