For all the Wooden Boxes in the Sea
So let me get this straight, you’re asking me to bottle my heart, my emotions, currently in an open mess; tie them up neatly, into a tight knit ball. Place my heart, now in a tight knit ball, into a wooden box and chuck said box into the sea.
But, one day that box is gonna hit a rock and that tight knit ball is going to unravel out my heart, which is going to come exploding out, bubbling forth, causing waves and ripples you never knew could exist.
Will you be ready for that day?
Sometimes – (Randoms)
Sometimes, dontcha just miss the old days? Why so much emphasis on moving on, tackling the new?
Sometimes, don’t you just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7? Don’t you miss summer-filled basement movie nights, without any planning? Just doing, going, seeing where the day takes us aka having fun, sleeping then not caring what tomorrow brings – be it more shows, movies, games, running, sprinting, chilling? That’s youth. Don’t you miss it?
I said sometimes, though. Sometimes, the whole next phase in life thing, adulting thing – seriously what on Earth even is “adulting” – is kinda important. So, sometimes I just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7.
Just Typing 