Sometime You MUST Indent, But This Time I Shall Not

Walking down the street, you saw trees. Trees lined the street and everything was cooler there, even when the temperatures were reaching record highs. There were houses, and there were people who sat on the porches there. If you weren't careful, you could get stuck talking to them for forever and a day about nothing, when all you wanted was to go on walking with your head in the clouds. And you did! You were tall, and at the same time you were small and the leaves glittered when you walked by and you were Richard Cory with a new ending and you were Wolf, and you were a heart in Atlantis, and this town was charmingly dead, and what did you feel? You felt like a child who knew too much. And that’s what you were. And nothing made sense, and that was okay. Sometimes it’s good for it to not make sense, because when it does, the world is a much duller place. And all the things you did, they shaped your mind, and they made you KNOW things, some of which had to be ignored for your peace of mind’s sake. Then one day they could not be ignored anymore, and you lost all that magic that was there before. Maybe it is still there, but you are less perceptive to it. You were a child, and no longer is that the case. Adults become adults because they learn what things to restrain, and if you restrain something for too long, it gives up and dies. Adults learn what to ignore and what to cover up and what to deny and what to push from their minds and what to be [tragically] skeptical about and they lose so much. You have to have to maintain a child's perception of things to some extent in order to have a child's joy in many things. In everything.