Turning 18 is a curious thing. Without a profound election to vote in, a nicotine addiction, or a sexual desperation, I don’t have much use for this age.
Sure, I can drive as many people in my car as I want, I can talk on the phone in the car, and I can get a hotel room, but meh. I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel suddenly more mature.
I wrote a haiku that I kind of like. I don’t expect any of you to understand it, so you won’t like it as much as me. But here it is anyways:
A beam of harsh light
Looks soft in this angry sea
Leads the ships on home
It flickers but holds
And still the waves slap the rocks
In awful taunting
The ship sinks down deep
There is no more of the light
Our beacon is gone