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.
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.