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.

    My legs, they cracked with my leg flicking forward but they take me places that aren't physical. I usually griped on my mothers saying (and contemplated how I would tell this to an audience), Two Arms, Two Legs when things were bad and I wanted justification in the pain, to not feel like an asshole for feeling mad at the predestined. I loved and understood my mother. I was grateful that I had a destination that I could reach, something to look forward to, and the provoking of my desire to write for the rest of my life.

    I told myself I needed to tell Eatai and Malika about my spiritual walk, and realized how many times I have said that to them before.  How many times I've had the privilege of being present in my own thoughts. How every walk alone was transformative. The other day I realized the sole reason that I need to keep living is my constant waiting for wisdom, for my brain to send me a message that completely reconfigures my perspective. I feel born with an inherent power that has no control, no way to ask for it to strike besides patience. I am eager to wait for myself, and know that my brain will entertain me in the meantime.