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call me your girlfriend when we're sixty

call me your girlfriend when we’re sixty by Alyssa Rorke

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i keep thinking about how much i’ve been feeling like a teenager lately. usually when people say that it refers to a high-school-sweetheart type feeling, but my situation is hardly romantic. maybe it’s the classic “i’m my old self again.”
“my old self.”
that could refer to any point in the cognitive past. the story of growing up is not linear. we never learn things when we need them. but i can’t quite concede to say that life is a series of mistake we’re learning from.
is it?
“my old self again.” is this irony? or a phenomenon we haven’t quite figured out yet?
“we’ve got the old alyssa back.”
where was i? who did I belong to? how do I know that I have myself back in my own hands? i’ve started to believe that parts of me still belong to other people. maybe i can’t get those parts back. maybe i can rebuild them, only on my own. maybe I can plant something in the empty space that was left.

 

A5, B+W, text and photos