Only Goethe for two weeks

When I was sixteen,
I found myself drifting away from the simple joys of childhood.
It was a strange mix of melancholy and early maturity.
I threw myself into things with intense passion—
though never with much persistence.
One week, I stayed up late every night making plant specimens.
The next two weeks, I read nothing but Goethe.
There’s a time in adolescence
when sensitivity peaks and something grabs hold of you.
You dive in, not knowing why,
and emerge changed.
I remember falling for a girl at sixteen
and losing myself in Shakespeare.
That lonely, aching season
shaped who I am today.