Would it be immature of me to say that life is too real? Yes, I think it would. But I can't help but feel like it gets thicker every day. Like, by my growing older, I have to walk into a pine forest where the trees grown taller and darker all the time. Maybe I need to brandish a sword of my own, to cut back some branches before walking farther. Right now, the love of music and literature is the only thing keeping me looking up into the tops of the trees to see patches of refracted light. I want to reach and grab them and hold them. And if I climb up to the treetops, logic tells me that the tree will sway, bend, and fall over. This is endless. I should never write about it again. Though it is full of great description.
Africa by Toto. Add that song the mix-tape to describe my life.
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