(no subject)

[whitbit]

I have been told, quite often, that I should write a book about my life. And I was once told that if I were to turn my journal into a novel, that she would buy ten copies and proceed to hand them out, insisting that it would change their life. I have some reservations about the immensity of those comments... but, it was still nice of her to say. Maybe, my novel could be journal entries to my far away friend, someone I was displaced from as a child... mixed in with my ridiculously emotional stories of adolescence. You, of course, would offer up beautifully written words of wisdom.... At first, the book would only slowly migrate its way through tiny bookstores and then-when some amazing publisher found the beauty in our thoughts, we would make millions and travel the world. Or perhaps, I will simply continue to write in this breathing room and only you, will understand my thoughts and we will be forever in conversation....

I think the first chapter would start when I was ten, on that day that I was just explaining-the boy with the purple swim trunks, because that day was the first thing I ever wrote about through the eyes of someone slightly older than a child... it was a day of firsts. A first kiss, a first love, a first game of spin the bottle. some things, more important than others-but that day shaped my teenage years, and without it, I wouldn't be this emotional, ever-loving, doomed from the start version of myself, so it seems only fitting.

P.S. I saw that boy yesterday-he's bald.