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In 3 days I’ll be 30. Words typed in Apt. 3313 at 3:33. Plenty of 3s. Digits overwhelmingly overwhelming. Ruminating the thought until it becomes unbearable. This tune plays over and over like a God sent gift. Telling the most poetic story. Maybe mine. I think I hear a knock on the door. I open it but no one is there. A void. I leave it ajar. A cross breeze through the space I call home makes me consider flying. Back to the place I belong. Age backwards like Benjamin Button. But the thunder and lightning keep me in tact. A slap in the face. A harsh reminder that that is not a feasible option. Because there are waking hours to come. And with them tales to be told about times like this. When I sat in Apt. 3313. At 3:33. Listened to a song about growing up. And wrote about what it felt like to be turning 30.