It’s crazy how many things are not me.
I don’t fly south as the seagull above me does.
While sitting outside, I can admire the seagull’s sense of direction.
I have also learned to hate the species as much as the locals.
I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a part of something.
Learning what animals are ok to not like and so on.
Some things I’m sold into seem to be a necessary part of adulthood.
Others I accept as part of my household.
Full of memories and unnecessary sentimentally.
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It’s crazy how many things are not me.
And they are hard to describe.
And they are hard to accept.
And they are simply not there.
I’m having trouble understanding this metaphor.
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