Falling out of the water never felt so right,
And swimming in the sunlight always felt like night.
I thought that this was fine.

Walking on thin air always seemed so pompous,
But now it seems as if it’s the thing to do.
I thought that this was fine.

I see the car pull up and stop beside my house,
The windows, blanketed in fog.
I see myself behind the wheel,
For the first time in years,
And you’re sitting on my lap.

I think that this is fine.
ok, yeah. my name is silly because I signed up when I was 13.

This feels incredibly incomplete. I see where you're going, and I see where you've gotten, but why should I care? It's very subtle, and I like that about it - the ambiguity of the last part is good, but if we were going to assume that this car was in storage Titanic-style, then the build up is rather bland, and this is the climax of an introspective young one, looking in the mirror and deciding that he's cooler than Jesus but not by much, but Ghandi's got fuck all on him.

This needs work: say what you wish to say, as opposed to allowing your observations saying it for you: unless they do, they don't; you know what I mean? to hell with beating around the bush - the bush has been burned, eaten, president twice and failed, beaten more times that we care to know, so leave the bush alone, and say what needs to be said, and what you truly feel is fine, because I think you're getting at something, but your structure doesn't suggest it, and your form only alludes to it. Keep writing, my friend.