So I was lying on the grass in my backyard
Looking at the typical bright blue springish sky
Feeling the hundreds of little poking green blades
Smelling the slightly perplexing mix of the neighbours' hamburgers and lilacs
Trying not to think about all the little bugs I was possibly squishing
Listening to cars pass on the road with all their little screeches and squeaks
Letting myself be microwaved by the sun
And somehow, it was one of the best moments ever.
Because nothing was expected of me
And I didn't have to fight for anything
And existing was easy
And I didn't need a reason for everything, it just was.
And I was happy for no reason--or maybe without needing to look for a reason.
And I could just lie there and write a lame little poem-like thing that had no rhythm or rhyme or complexity, and be ok with that.
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