I climbed a tree the other day. First time I've ever done so. Never did it while I was younger. Shit, I've never even flown a kite let alone climb a goddamn tree, but I did it. While I was preached precariously between two branches, I surveyed the area. Just mundane activities sprinkled across the suburban roadway. Children playing tag. Fathers washing cars. People moving to and fro and in that moment, I knew it would never be the same. It meaning how I see myself. It meaning my family. It meaning my friends. It meaning what I know is right. Shit, I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to fall, as if a passing breeze would sweep me up and float me gently into the grass. That's not happening. So I gingerly climbed down the tree, and plopped down on and lied down on the grass. I stared up into the leaves of the comforting tree and played war with the clouds above. Giving meaning to even the most minute feature in the cloud's image, perpetuating my thoughts into deeper fields of imagination. Then I thought, shut the fuck up Winslow. Life is too fucking short to waste your time with the "what-ifs." Why the fuck do I keep measuring life? If I want something so badly, do something about it. Then I rolled over and napped on the front lawn and was awaken by the sprinkler my dad put on. Yes, he has sense of humor and yes, I was pissed. Needless to say, I did try to take something out of my actions today. Winslow, be fucking you and stop measuring life so goddamn much.
Oh and who wants to fly a kite soon because I've never done it before?!
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