This piece was easy to write once I got started, but starting was nearly impossible. As a new-to-being-published writer, I still grapple with the question of what stories are really mine to tell. In some ways it feels like writing about something is more intimate than observing it. When it's happening to you, you can't help but be exposed to the emotions and visuals of an experience. But to write about it means confronting it, thinking about it, and voluntarily exploring it from every angle. I'm still scared that only my perspective isn't enough to adequately give life to a story, which is why this piece was so difficult.
"At 16 love was good. Love was happy, giggling as you steal a kiss in a movie theater or hold hands under a blanket or profess undying devotion in dark corners. It was notes in the hallway, movies in the living room, school dances in the cafeteria. It was innocence disguised in the words we thought adults in love said. He borrowed my books. I watched his garage band perform. Love was nice, and we were nice, and that’s all that mattered."
You can read the rest of the piece at WildSpice.
Bridey is a freelance writer living in Washington, D.C.
All Activism Amanda Palmer Annie Atkins Awareness Book Review Caitlin Moran Call The Midwife Darling Forbes Freelance Tips Freelance Writing History Literally Living With Cats Michel Gondry Millennials Mood Indigo NO TOFU Pamela Anderson Pet Tips Robin Williams Small Space Living Summer The Boxtrolls The Grand Budapest Hotel Tiny Home Welcome What I've Learned Writing