Bokelskere.no

I would have pitied any adult who told me that things would change. For you, I would have thought, but not for us.

When you were an adult, all the promises of your life was foreclosed upon, every day just a series of compromises mitigated by little pleasures that distracted you from your former wildness, from your truth. Sylvia Plath, Marilyn Monroe, Edie Sedwick, Janis Joplin. They got to be beautiful forever.

When you grow up, who you were as a teenager either takes on a mythical importance or it's completely laughable.

At fifteen, the world ended over and over and over again. To be so young is a kind of self-violence. No foresight, an inflated sense of wisdom, and yet you're still responsible for your mistakes.

To the moment before I tasted alcohol, to virginity and not really knowing that things die, back to believing that something great is up ahead, back to before I made the choices that would hem me in to the life I live now.

I want to go home, but what I mean, what I'm grasping for, is not a place, it's a feeling. I want to go back. But back where?

Privilege is something to be aware of, to fight to see beyond, but ultimateley to be grateful for. It's like a bulletproof vest; it makes you harder to kill.

At fifteen, I believed that I would grow up to be the exception to every rule.

Tell me what you can't forget, and I'll tell you who you are.