White falling tears of snowy paper

Sometimes it scares me, this childhood fantasy of growing up and "settling down". The amercian dream. White house, white fence, white cubicle at work. So sterile, and surreal. Boundaries never seeping past the front door way or the office. To go and come everyday, and work so ideally never leaving home. Trapped, like a dog chasing it's tail, alone in small-town America. Why would you stay bundled up? Shielded from the world like this, in this perfect suburban life. There's more to life, to dreams, to futures, why waste it on just one thing. Fly, and fail, spread your wings and take a chance because in the end it doesn't matter. Im afraid, not of failing, but of being trapped and never flying. Don't let yourself fall in.