I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.
Eighteen is the magic number
Defines maturity and responsibility
Perhaps it’s just a digit
6570 days of being alive
But don’t know what you are living for
Answers and claims are unreachable
Eighteen is a number of legality
But not a number of wisdom
Talk to someone who has lived more days
Life isn’t about digits and numbers
It’s about the choices we make
Every choice from the 6570 day is critical
You just don’t know it yet ….