I don’t know anymore
I’m still that kid with the weird homemade things that people make fun of. I still defend it lovingly with the infallible argument “my mom made it for me” with an enchanted smile.
Case in point: today in the mail I received a bag made out of my dad’s old Carhartt pants with the lining made out of fabric I tie-dyed. Is it obviously homemade? Yes. Is it less-than-NYC-couture? Verily. Am I gonna rock the shit out of it at a gallery opening tomorrow? You betcha.
Ryan is the greatest ever.
I miss the fullness of life. I miss my capacity to feel, to be affected. I miss my old, endless ability to find beauty everywhere.
How have I lost this? It’s all floated away and now it’s like it was never there at all. I am a ghost, a shell, nothing nothing nothing.