With respect to our pasty and suicidal poet, I will re-appropriate the carriage to symbolize fate.
This metaphor is contingent on the reader being willing to give this author a bit of wiggle room to state the following: when it arrives, greet it and do a ride-along. This metaphor is crap.
As i get older, however, I wonder--could my body continue its ascension towards the sun, while my will combats the naturally developing maturity?
Will I continue to grow up, but reject the responsibilities of adulthood? Can this frog please, oh please, remain a tadpole?
It feels so blasé and bourgeois to worry about the future, especially when the focus is financial.
Why do I minimize it, though? This is real.
Because…this was never mine. I never owned a bit of this before, and it’s all I encompass: grown-up worry. Another one bites the dust.