Tent Life (REMIX)

By: Billy Cartee


Raindrop, drop top…. Water falling down my tent top
 Pretty girl, crop top, beautiful back drop
Cold beer hop hop, Sweatshirt swap
She stays warm, me and her on the mountain top.
“Do people ever ask you what you do in a tent? How can this possibly be fun? Being in the middle of nowhere?”
I reply “you mean my temporary home?”  Most people won’t get it. The solitude, the fresh air, the notion of time disappearing. It all goes back to being a child, I loved building forts. I was that child who would suspiciously pace room to room with that mischievous look on my face. Accumulating as many pillows and blankets as humanly possible in efforts to construct quite possibly the best Fort: Summer ’95 Edition. As I put the finishing touches, one thing is missing—a broomstick with my underwear adhered to the top. Flawless execution.
That was a time I didn’t think all too much of what kind of underwear my mom used to buy me. Now, I couldn’t be more meticulous about the underwear I put on, when I have to pay rent, why people keep leaving me voicemails or why when I go to bed I think about every scenario that quite possibly won’t ever happen.
I have grown up and it sucks.
The irony here is that I miss the simplicity of being a child. Building a fort all too vividly reminds me of pitching a tent and getting away from it all.
Life is complicated, life is stressful and it moves all too fast. I’m going to maintain my childish antics to keep me sane in this world. The combination of all the small things is what makes me happy. I love the sound of unzipping the tent, raindrops dancing on stretched canvas, the cold exterior of my sleeping bag and the warm smile of the girl who doesn’t realize how much I appreciate moments like this. When I’m outside everything is magnified, my sense of appreciation for all the things I have, all the things I don’t need and my endless goal to chase the person I’m supposed to become. I think if we always carry a piece of our youth, poke fun, playfully flirt and remember to do good we won’t ever grow up. I will always stick to the five finger rule—count all your blessings on one hand cause that all you will ever need.

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