"I wrote that about a time in my life where I was in a relationship and it just kind of, I was

always wondering, 'Where do we stand? What are we?'" Taylor explained in a new interview
with Access Hollywood's Liz Hernandez. "It's the anxietyâ₠¬Â¦ that frantic anxiety of
wondering if you're on solid ground yet."

While Taylor has remained mum on who exactly the song is about â₠¬â€ œ as is the case for
most of her lovelorn numbers â₠¬â€ œ there are some hints in the lyrics that the song is
about One Direction's Harry Styles."Last December, we were built to fall apart / Then fall back
together / Your necklace hanging from my neck The night we couldnâ₠¬â„ ¢t quite forget,"
she sings.

Honestly, I think I put that in there because people think they know the exact narrative of the
way that my life has gone," Taylor revealed. "They think that everybody who reports something
is telling the truth. Like, every source is a real friend close to me. When truly, the reason most of
the things in the media that are written about me aren't true because none of my real friends
would ever talk to the press."

Among those friends are some very famous faces, including Lena Dunham, Karlie Kloss, Jamie
King, Selena Gomez and Lorde â₠¬â€ œ but as for a boyfriend, Taylor insists she is loving
the single life!

"It's interesting how people say to you when you tell them that you're happy on your own, the
first thing they say is, 'Oh don't worry, you'll find someone.' And I'm like no you don't
understand. I'm good!" the 24-year-old singer explained.

People say all the time, 'You need to spend some time to yourself and figure out who you are'
and I never really understood it until it happened to me. I woke up one day and I just realized I'm
in New York because I want to be in New York. I cut my hair short because I wanted to. I made
a pop album because I wanted to," she continued. "There was absolutely no one else influencing
me and that was something I was very proud of."

As for what lies ahead in love, Taylor said, right now, it's the furthest thing from her mind.

"Right now, it's not something that I'm interested in. I'm not going to change that part of my life
because my life is working right now and I'm happy," Taylor told Liz. "I'm happy about simple
things. I'm happy about friendships. I'm happy about music more so that I've ever been before, so
that's the part of my life I am really dead set on not changing."
The woodland seemed ominously quiet. They paused, now that even the sound of their own footfalls
was silent, all that could be heard was the susurration of the leaves in the gusty wind. Looking up, they
were transfixed by the myriad of fluttering leaves that danced in the high boughs, making a living roof
above them. They were calmed, almost hypnotised, but the longer they stared the more the leaves
looked like eyes staring back down at them and the boughs seemed to draw closer, blocking the sunlight
as if they were forming a cage around them.

The old, yellow and brown leaves hustled in the wind, as the sounds of dead, weak trees, creak at every
push the wind gave. It's the end of fall and the air is colder than an ice cube, as it climbs through my
jacket to the bottom of my spine. Most of the leaves are already gone. And the sight of every living thing
coming to an end, depresses me. The crumpling of the brown stiff leaves creates a home to many
animals that need a place to hid during this time of empty sorrow. The birds have ceased to sing no
more and I must take this time to enjoy whatever is left here in the woods. It has always been my best
friend, even ever since I climbed up my first tree in fourth grade. It has been my rock and foundation of
my life ever since I lost my loving mother.

The woods accelerated the twilight, shrinking what would normally take an hour into just a few minutes.
When Tessa entered on the rutted path, carefully avoiding the hoof-sized frozen pools, the light had
faded so little she didn't even notice the difference. It wasn't a long trek, it was muddier for sure but it
would get her home twenty minutes earlier. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the encroaching gloom and it
wasn't for ten minutes that she realized the sun wasn't penetrating the leaves like it usually does and
everything was a hue darker than it should be. She picked up her pace but in only five more minutes it
was undeniably dark, she could no longer avoid the ruts and her ankle twisted painfully when she made
a mis-step. The trees had become silhouettes, the air was colder and the gaiety of the woodland had
been replaced with a sense of isolation. Her heart pounded in a way that had nothing to do with the
exertion of walking. Soon the path and her own feet melted into blackness...

The dappled shade of the woodland trees had seemed so inviting only moments earlier. Sarah had
walked holding Tommy's hand pointing out the pale bark of the Silver Birch and the tight black buds of
the Ash. They had pretended to be steam trains and puffed along, their white "smoke" rising amid the
cool late winter air. They had stomped in the stream, clouding it with silt and then constructed a dam of
twig, rock and leaf litter. But she had wandered into the trees to collect some pretty holly for an art
display and told him to wait right there on the path, to listen to the birds and draw in the mud with a
stick. On her return all she found was a dappled path, a muddy stick and a mitten. She had called softly
for him at first as if it were a game of hide 'n' seek, in less than a minute her anguished cries brought
nearby walkers rushing toward her. A gent in a cloth cap pulled out his phone and called for police.
Sarah stood aghast, not knowing in which direction to run.

The leaves scud over the ground and take small flights into the air. As I toss my head back and raise my
eyes to the sky a smile spreads from freckled cheek to cheek. The branches sway like the arms of a
soccer crowd and it their chaotic dance they are hypnotically beautiful. My mind relaxes and I feel the
happiness of my life bubble up from within. The light I keep inside begins to escape from my pores.
Were it not for the passers by I would spin like a little girl again, arms out wide and fingers spread, but
instead I keep my hands in my pockets and inhale deeply. This wind carries the fragrance of the
woodland, the essence of my childhood days...

As I approached the forest, I wrapped my cerise colored coat around my neck, took a huge breath and
set off. I could feel the silky smooth leaves brushing against my arms and hear the melodious chirping of
the birds as I pranced ahead. I lifted her head and let the rays of warm, amber sunlight dance across my
face. I could see small patches of the clear blue sky peering in through trees as tall as skyscrapers. I
picked a small red berry from a bush and popped it into my mouth. I could immediately feel its sweet
and tangy taste. The tranquil atmosphere in the forest had instantly vanished as I heard crunching
footsteps on the leaves.

The forest that was once so alive now chills me. In this thirty degree heat I'm actually shaking.
The trees that sheltered so many with their spreading canopy of green and provided so much are
now lifeless sticks of charcoal, no more vibrant than the old lamp-posts in the city. The
unfettered light illuminates the scorched ground and still that smell of burning lingers despite the
rain. They couldn't beat us in court so they brought cheap petrol and a five cent matchbook. Who
will stand in the way of their progress now? If I were to close my eyes I would still see the
virescent mosaic above, feel the humid air and hear the sounds of the frogs. But I won't, I can't.
This reality was cruel enough the first time when we stood mute before the flames, I don't think I
could survive that again.

The forest is the orchestra of my mind, playing one enchanting symphony after another. Her leaves
dance to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the wind. In here, sheltered by the mighty trees, is
every kind of life, from the humble beetle to enchanting birds of every colour. I hold my hands up to feel
the cascading light, a brilliant white shaft illuminating the path that takes me onward and home.

I once asked Mica to describe the forest, she paused, gave the faintest of smiles and spoke softly. "In the
forest the sky vanishes almost completely, only a few fragments of blue remain- like scattered pieces of
an impossible jigsaw puzzle. The air is rich with the fragrance of leaves and loam, damp too. Even so
many hours after the rains have passed, the soil remains wet, slowly releasing its heady fog. Outside is
the noon daylight, the powerful rays of early summer, but in here everything is cool and the colours
have the softness of that time just before twilight. The only movement is the occasional bird, startling in
a tree or a squirrel dashing up a nearby trunk. The sound of running water in the brook has the same
hypnotic quality as music, I want to stop just to drink in the sound. The huckleberries are mostly red, tart
but with just the right amount of sweetness. I take in all the air my lungs will hold and expel it slowly.
These hikes in the forest are like a trip out of my life, a visit to somewhere the measuring of time is done
only by the rising and setting of the sun."

The forest was ancient. The trees thick and old, roots that were twisted. It might once have been filled
with bird-song and animals that roamed. But now it was ages past its former glory. It's canopy was so
dense that you could only see the occasional streak of sunlight that rarely touched the forest floor. Even
its thick vines were slowly taking away the last remnants of the temple that stood in the centre.
The forest was one of those places which had no palpable reason to exist. It was a creaking shack
created by nature to serve as a reminder that things could always be much, much worse. The unnatural,
choking mist that swirled and sprawled on the forest floor was the first thing that spoke of a strange sort
of wrongness. The sickly white substance seemed to possess liquid properties which only reminded of
the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead man who had been forgotten in his apartment for a few
months, ready to burst at the slightest touch. The smoke made no sound however and only parted to
swallow up her feet as she marched upon the giant dead, festering eyeball of the forest floor. The sound
of mushy and dead leaves whispered from under the skin of the mist.

I never wear shoes in the forest. I know there are bugs and sharp sticks but I need the feel of the earth
between my toes. I have to touch the rough bark and break leaves in my hands to smell them. I need to
look up at the leaves, glowing as the light passes through them. In this way the harshness of the sun is
muted, its rays are softer, less brilliant. The air is freshest after a rainfall and the water seeps from the
path over my toes with each step. I know I must look a sight, but I take the paths less traveled and you'd
be amazed at how few people I can meet. Here my thoughts fly to the canopy above, free, but protected
by the boughs. My emotions sink back to base-line, a reboot for my brain. Then when I am ready to
emerge I pull the rubber boots from my backpack, rinse my feet from a water bottle and put on the thick
socks my mother is expecting to be on my feet. If she ever knew she'd glue them on and that would
really ruin things.

The ground of these forests, formed from the remains of trees falling, in successive generations,
for centuries, is most eccentric: sometimes raising itself in the shape of a mountain, to descend
suddenly into a muddy swamp, peopled by hideous alligators wallowing in the green slime, and
by millions of mosquitoes swarming amidst the fetid vapours exhaled, sometimes extending
itself endlessly in plains of a monotony and regularity truly depressing.

Ahead the forest trees are thinner, a clearing perhaps or a glade? As we draw closer we can see that it is
neither. The firm ground gives way to a marsh of tall reeds, the soil submersed in water. The autumn
sunlight falls directly onto a tree trunk, likely felled for just this purpose, a bridge. There is no hand rail,
nothing to steady oneself. The drop isn't dangerous, just one hell of a messy landing. With one careful
boot I test the bark. It's damp with a smattering of moss, likely the sunrays keep the worst of it off. It
isn't too slippery, but it's no concrete sidewalk. It's has a girth of about three arm spans, yet the top is
still curved. Time to take a deep breath and just go- eyes on my feet and the next half metre of tree,
arms raised like a tightrope walker. Steady. Steady. One footfall at a time until the other bank appears.

The forest path is wide and civilized. The city has used our taxes to lay wood-chips and place
garbage bins along the route. The trees are so separated by this swathe they have cut that I still
need my sunglasses. The brilliant rays are not dappled but shine hotly from above as strong as at
any beach without the benefit of a cooling onshore breeze. But all that will change in twenty
minutes, then the noble efforts of the bureaucrats will end and the forest will reassert itself. The
path will twist, snaking around the ancient trees. The roots will criss-cross, gnarled and uneven-
as beautiful as any picture book illustration. I will take in the colours with unshielded eyes and
use my hands where the path rises in steep, uneven rocky steps. I have a map of this place
carefully stored in my head. My boots have trodden these paths so often that the soles are
wearing thin, but I cannot tire of this place, this forest. I may live in a tower of concrete but my
heart will always live here.

It was an early autumn morning and a frosty chill hung in the air. The sweet surrendering scent of the
morning dew filled the forest with a scent that did not belong on earth. Autumn leaves from the tall
trees lay scattered on the forest floor; each of them turning brittle brown; there was a sound like dried
cereal being crunched underfoot, pushing their papery remains deep into the soft soil. The dark
shadows of the voluminous trees and the surrounding bushes had become the backbone of the forest,
standing as passive protectors of a peaceful place. The autumn sun rose in a hurry as if trying to make
up for setting too early the evening before, blooming into the pale sky with a warm mellow glow,
sending what was left of the moon packing until its next shift guarding the night. By mid morning sky
was a brilliant baby blue. As the morning developed the sound of young birds filled the air: chirping,
tweeting and warbling incessantly.

Magnificent forest of tall trees

•
Like a crowd of vivid green umbrellas
•
Huge canopy of treetops like a green blanket
•
Emerald green leaves
•
Fiery scarlet autumn leaves
•
Vivid green stems
•
Beautiful, green cloaks
•
Like fluttering, emerald ribbons
•
Brightly coloured creepers like party streamers
•
Blazing carpet of bluebells
•
Clumps of snowdrops
•
Clusters of purple blossoms
•
Red and orange berries
•
Spikes of quivering, yellow petals
•
Bright red rhododendron flowers
•
Like a carpet of jewels – rubies, sapphires and opals
•
Glistening icicles
•
Dew-soaked grass like a field of liquid diamonds
•
Thick jungle of dense forest
•
Dark, tangled maze of tunnels and secret paths
•
Spidery knot of trees and bushes
•
Thick, gnarled trunks
•
Huge, thick limbs
•
Bleached skeletons of dead trees
•
Roots like enormous, wooden tentacles
•
Like ghostly, stooped figures
•
Like feathery shadows
•
Sharply pointed tips like fingernails
•
Carpet of decay
•
Rotting leaves and dead branches
•
Writhing carpet of buzzing, crawling insects
•
Blanket of fog
•
Eerie, greenish gloom

Impossible to find a way through

•
Couldn’t tell one part of the forest from the rest
•
Formed dark tunnels
•
Created secret paths
•
Hid many secrets
•
Swayed to the rhythm of the wind
•
Danced on gusts of frosty air
•
Tossed their branches
•
Flung their leaves up to the sky
•
Arched in the wind
•
Trailed their leaves on the ground
•
Hung like swaying feathers
•
Waved like hundreds of tiny hands
•
Floated to the ground
•
Creepers hung between the branches
•
Alive with splashes of red and orange berries
•
Covered in butterflies
•
Stretched like a carpet of jewels
Lay like a carpet of confetti
•
Cloaked with purple heather
•
Dotted with red poppies
•
Sun danced on the leaves
•
Bathed in light
•
Dripped stalactites of colour
•
Shone with patches of misty light
•
Painted the ground with flickering shadows
•
Branches spread and twisted together like a prehistoric beast
•
Ivy choked the twisted tree
•
Thorns knotted amongst the trees and bushes
•
Twisted and grated against each other like rusty hinges
•
Blocked the path
•
Strangled the paths
•
Littered the ground
•
Burst from the ground
•
Wriggled across the forest floor
•
Shrouded in mist
•
Cloaked in a blanket of darkness
•
Tore at their arms and legs
•
Grasped at her ankles like bony fingers
•
Pressed in on him on all sides
•
Trapped her in its thorny grasp

The majestic trees stood tall and proud.

The trees were joined together like a crowd of vivid green umbrellas.
The magnificent trees flung their branches up to the sun to frame the
deep blue sky.
A white blanket of snowdrops danced on gusts of frosty air.
They were welcomed by wave after wave of the gently nodding heads of
daffodils.
The ground was painted with red poppies and yellow gorse.
The hedge was alive with splashes of red and orange berries.
Hanging from every branch were icicles that glistened like liquid
diamonds.
The branches swayed to the rhythm of the wind and their leaves fluttered
like graceful
butterflies.
The petals had been shaken off the bush and lay like a carpet of pink
confetti on the floor.
As they entered the wood, they were greeted by the bowed heads of a
blazing carpet of
bluebells.
It was impossible to move quickly through the spidery tangle of trees and
bushes.
The brambles and thorns tore at their arms and legs.
The forest floor was a writhing carpet of buzzing, crawling insects.
An eerie, greenish gloom filled the clearing.
Patches of misty light shone through the gaps in the trees.
The leaves glowed in the early morning light like hundreds of tiny hands.
The bonfire blazed in the background. A thousand flickering shadows
painted the
ground.
Rotting leaves hid the roots that wriggled across the ground.
The forest was a dark, tangled maze and it was impossible to find a way
through.
The branches of the thick, tangled trees had spread and twisted to form
dark, overhead
tunnels and created secret paths.
The ceiling of thick branches shut out the sky and covered the path in
darkness.
The dead branches rose up and grasped at her ankles like bony fingers.
The branches twisted and grated against each other like rusty hinges.
Like some prehistoric beast, the huge, twisted limbs of the tree guarded
the entrance.
Pressing in on her from all sides, it seemed that the forest was trying to
trap her in its
thorny grasp.
As it drifted through the forest, the fog made eerie shapes and shadows.
Cloaked in mist, the trees looked like ghostly, stooped figures.