Any Color You Want
Suppose one day I find my throne. Doesn’t it then become just another chair, a place to rest my tired ass, where I can slouch as I wait for my kingdom, so recently come, to go? I’m tired, and I don’t really know how old I am in comparison to what I’m leaning against. There’s so much ancient wisdom I’ve yet to unearth. Thus I’ve no reason to be bitter, and resigned to my fate. I catch myself complaining about gray skies because I’ve forgotten what every child, given just enough love, knows intuitively - with a set of crayons and an open heart, you can make the world any color you want.
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