"I am jealous of you, young people. I am old, I am cranky. I haven't felt life in my bones for years. Old age takes you out in ways you never expected. Old age makes you blind to what you used to enjoy: To mere sunshine and lighting cigarettes in the alleyway trying to keep warm between classes. To Tom Odell and colourful cheesy piano, screaming to pop songs that you would sing along to. To feeling invincible enough to change ambitions every other week, depending on what mood you're in.
You long for security and control. You will never get there. Stay young. Stay as young as you can. Watch how lightfooted the young seem. Stay young while you can.
I am jealous of you.
Of waking up and feeling so lost, and yet feeling so secure in your lostness, feeling life gripping you like a deep song that sounds like it's been written in a dark hotel room that smells like disappointment and cold dreams."
He tells me.
You long for security and control. You will never get there. Stay young. Stay as young as you can. Watch how lightfooted the young seem. Stay young while you can.
I am jealous of you.
Of waking up and feeling so lost, and yet feeling so secure in your lostness, feeling life gripping you like a deep song that sounds like it's been written in a dark hotel room that smells like disappointment and cold dreams."
He tells me.