As I turned eighteen, things simultaneously made more and less sense. I understand my newfound duties but don't know how to accomplish them. The question of "why?" Why. Time doesn't stop, not for me or anyone else. Regardless, it feels as though I've been thrown into the deep end without the instinct to float; without any preparation, any guidance, any anything. Everything is simple yet complicated, so was it ever that easy to begin with? The digital clocks are meant to symbolize time running out, starting at 11:56 and reaching 11:59. What would have been midnight is a digital and standard clock reading 18 and dignified by vibrant colors. And as the rest of the clocks go up, so does the number, because you don't stop aging until death. At the bottom is a stylized self-portrait of me, as I had turned 18 this past December, with a candle presenting the words happy birthday, and a large flame that spreads warmth across my face despite my doubts of adulthood. This is the end of a chapter.