Dear, I Fear We’re Facing a Problem
I miss telling everyone everything. I miss it being a secret, I miss it being a rumor. I miss your faces when you were young, not because of what age did to you, that I love to see. It’s something else. The closest I can get to time travel.
When you are older, I will tell you I was young and I needed the money. When I am older, I will tell you the truth. They're not the same story, reader, though I’ve learned to make it sound that way. It helps. Usually I am referencing a specific space and time that is already over, something that I already miss. Not now. Now, I am horribly and deeply aware. Staring. Present.
I thought about this moment before. Today, exactly, sort of. I wondered "in twenty years from now, will I still be writing in my livejournal?" I had just deleted Apathyoverdose, the original blog I had made my freshman year of high school. It was the summer before senior year, I was seventeen years old & feeling fresh, brand new--- I had no idea that I really was, reader. I thought I was already done for and old. I was sure my greatest loves were behind me; I was absolutely floored with the idea that this was supposed to be life. I wanted to shape it and mold it, I’d take the picture and write the story and let life match in that order. I wanted pictures of the themed party but more than that I wanted us to be the theme one more time. I never wanted us to stop playing pretend. Is that why you all have children now? Does it get to be make believe again or is it something for someone else?
I didn’t think I’d be typing on a phone. I imagined an even bigger desktop. I thought I’d be in Los Angeles or New York City or Paris. I thought, I thought, I thought.
When you are older, I will tell you I was young and I needed the money. When I am older, I will tell you the truth. They're not the same story, reader, though I’ve learned to make it sound that way. It helps. Usually I am referencing a specific space and time that is already over, something that I already miss. Not now. Now, I am horribly and deeply aware. Staring. Present.
I thought about this moment before. Today, exactly, sort of. I wondered "in twenty years from now, will I still be writing in my livejournal?" I had just deleted Apathyoverdose, the original blog I had made my freshman year of high school. It was the summer before senior year, I was seventeen years old & feeling fresh, brand new--- I had no idea that I really was, reader. I thought I was already done for and old. I was sure my greatest loves were behind me; I was absolutely floored with the idea that this was supposed to be life. I wanted to shape it and mold it, I’d take the picture and write the story and let life match in that order. I wanted pictures of the themed party but more than that I wanted us to be the theme one more time. I never wanted us to stop playing pretend. Is that why you all have children now? Does it get to be make believe again or is it something for someone else?
I didn’t think I’d be typing on a phone. I imagined an even bigger desktop. I thought I’d be in Los Angeles or New York City or Paris. I thought, I thought, I thought.