Another journal entry where I just explain my thought process on something that doesn't matter
I was having another in-depth conversation with myself. The perfect queue was playing for the wind flowing with the leaves and the overcast horizon on the lake: All Too Well, Back To December, The Only Exception, and How I Get Myself Killed . There was an adequate amount of people on the bike trail, enough where I never had to move into the grass but able to be consciously aware that there was a sense of collective experience, a grounding to reality. I was completely erupted by both Taylor songs, seeing her crack to the bat, exploring how the lyrics worked sonically and felt myself questioning why I had to listen to folklore to see her excellence in the craft. I was crying about how much I loved my friends to The Only Exception, writing their draft christmas letters in my head. I was on my mental typewriter, wishing that walking and writing was an easier task. I was feeling my power in being sore during How I get Myself Killed. ...
