7/10/17
5:46am
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6/13/08: There was a violin playing and my father. And a hundred heads of people. I forgot that my dress was dirty. And it was the most beautiful moment of my life.
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I’m rereading my writings from almost ten years ago. My younger self, speaking without restraint. The simplistic beauty of recording my days, as they were, without frills (ie-restraint). And I see that that woman and this woman of “now” were, are walking simultaneously. She was, is here. Or I was, am there – whispering in her ear, she is whispering in my ear. The footprints stretch behind us, in front of us.
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