Last night I convinced myself this summer would be great. I would make it great, the summer of WB.
This morning I knew the summer will not be great.
I am still young, dumb, and full of cum. I still have no idea of what I am doing. I cannot find the courage to pass a test. I cannot find the courage to quit playing children's games. I cannot find the courage to make a decision.
But when you are old past summers always seem great. Time has a way of erasing the bad and highlighting the good. If this manipulation is good, bad, or meaningless, I do not know. But when I am 35 and have to really work, this summer will be great.
For some strange reason I take solace in this fact.
*From Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car"
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1 comment:
My realization was I could have done fine if I wanted to.
My father talks about "want to" separating men from boys.
I don't want to.
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