I didn’t touch this in over a year and in a way I am glad. I will always be that girl who takes a breather from the melee of the dancefloor by jotting down a few lines of poetry, but the time I took away from being a Writer was meant to be lived. Met up with a boy I had a crush on back when I had a body almost as awkward as my smile and ended up walking tipsily down Broadway at midnight, laughing, rising up on tip-toes because I was sharing his iPod earbuds and he was too tall, realized years too late that we should’ve done this earlier because we got along just fine. Spent my Olympics in the Village and told Heather Kearns that I loved her nails on the same day I mistook a Chinese figure skater’s request for fried eggs for an ill-advised confession that he was ready for the bomb. Vowed to learn French after being picked up hitchhiking in Languedoc-Rousillon by a man who wanted a kiss for his efforts but could only conjure up the word “smack”, nearly got sold into prostitution by an underaged Irish boy, learned how to lime-wash and mix cob in England, got sunburned for the first time gardening in Spain in my bathing suit, lost five pounds in a week walking up and down the San Francisco hills. Saw my favourite band both nights they were here and cried both times over the same songs.
You know what? I’m a writer, but sometimes I fancy myself a photographer, too. Photo post upcoming.
I am a remarkably – possibly unjustly – privileged girl. But, dammit, I’m not going to apologize for throwing myself into my youth.