going on seventeen

15 Aug

Tomorrow is my birthday.

I am turning 17, which is an age that Younger Me couldn’t really wrap her head around, mainly because the seventeen-year-olds around her scared the ever-loving shit out of her. So that kind of makes me afraid of inadvertently scaring small children.

Urr, I’m happy at this moment. Actually happy, not some cheap imitation of emotion I put on like a mask. No. This is real: this is marvellous.

I have realized that all the links I had have been sliced.
Do you understand this?

I sure as hell do. You remember when I was writing about Taschen/Bortglomt and Tweed and Hove/Agætis? I no longer feel for any of them. I no longer feel for Guillame.
I do feel for The Poet, though I will never see him again. I understand this fact, I’ve acknowledged it, and I am happy to stay with my memories and float on.
I have a lot of happy memories from that trip.
This cutting of all these ties- it’s like I’ve been freed. I never realized how much I wanted their approval, their okay with the things I did, and now that I’m free to do whatever I want, judging put to the wayside, it feels beautiful.

Though the Poet didn’t ask for approval, he just accepted me without my needing to act. So did Guillame, in the beginning. But. Those times are over, I am moving on.

Happy Birthday Kyna! Happy Birthday, Leah B! Happy Birthday all those other nameless millions who share my/our birthday! I hope you are doing swell!

Will write again, maybe in the near future?


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