Lessons from Taylor Swift

I threw a snowball at Taylor Swift.

She ducked, I knocked over a 2-foot windmill.

Shattering it into a million pieces in front of the boy of my dreams.

If I were to analyze this for the king,

I would tell him the piece that shattered was from The James Museum and I hate Taylor Swift. She threw me the synthetic ice and told me to participate if wanted “XYZ”.

What was the XYZ? I can remember everything but that part.

Dreams are so weird.

My dream boy was there to watch me burn. I understood that much. And the piece I can’t remember must’ve been my exit out, of this nightmare of insecurity.

The missing line must’ve been the contract my psyche refused to sign. If i remembered the exact promise, I’d be trapped in the logic of:

“Had I just behaved, I could’ve returned to my seat.”

Forgetting it meant the offer was never real. Maybe That’s not insecurity, maybe it’s instinct.

It get weirder..

I was told the salvation of the windmill was at this hotel on the beach. Someone who was going to pay for it.

My parents. I was definitely dreaming.

When I arrived, this was the type of hotel where ordinary didn’t belong.

To the right, celebrities were holding some kind of ceremony, all sitting together. Elizabeth Moss was having a drink at the bar with, we’ll just say, Natalie Portman.

I remember saying “ There’s Billie Eilish”

But I was standing in the lobby of this hotel, as if I was naked. And in color. But they were all moving in a black and white film. The rest of the hotel was in color, except that part.

Their part.

Signaling “ Very Important Persons” only can touch us.

I’d tell the king “they always leave out the fine print when belonging is the prize.”

It’s all Taylor’s fault.