Stories · writing

Pressurized Sentiment

Sometimes being an adult feels like an elongated version of deciding what to play when you’re a kid

Run around until dusk and your only concerns are when lunch or dinner is.

I liked that because it was a lot simpler

You didn’t have a lot of options so you just sort of experienced whatever was in your path

I remember waking up without a plan and just being excited to get out and “explore” even though I could easily run around our neighborhood with my eyes shut,

But I always found something new. A family of rabbits, a conversation with a mockingbird, stashing a makeshift time capsule in the safe crook of a tree.

I really don’t like how far away that feels, sometimes. I get caught up in this day-to-day

Worrying over every word I say

Am I creative or am I just fueled by consumption of media

Am I smart or do I just parrot words that I hear

What part of me is me and what parts are a conglomerate of everything else?

And do I live for myself?

Hard to tell.

I have yet to sort it all out.

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