Seventeen Forever

In one day, I age one year. January 24th, I am still seventeen. January 25th, I somehow age a full year. A mere twenty-four hours transforms me into a legal and supposedly mature adult from a socially awkward and immature (in every way possible) teenager. I still feel seventeen; nothing has changed from the previous day. My parents still use those ugly curtains with roses all over them in the living room; that freckle on my chin still exists. Nothing changes about me except that I am one day wiser, one day stranger, one day older. I'm still that brown-eyed, brown-haired, pasty-as-a-hermit member of the female population that captured the hearts of only a handful of people (and I don't mean that romantically). My friends are still my friends, and I expect them to be as such the following day, when I am supposed to be eighteen years and twenty-four hours. But I am not eighteen years and twenty-four hours then. I am seventeen years and three hundred sixty-six days.