Remember when we used to take pictures all day and have bad skin but good everything else? Remember when you couldn’t get the girl so we were left with our hands and AIM and porn underneath the bed? I do.
Remember when we said we wouldn’t do certain things? It’s easy to have convictions when you’re fifteen. It’s easy to say no when you don’t know how to say yes yet.
Remember when we knew our friends better than we knew ourselves? They were our mirrors because we were too young to identify ourselves. We had someone else define us because it was easier, because it was all we really knew how to do.
Remember having an endless amount of time? Remember when our job was just to not massively screw up? Some of us failed at that even. Some of us got swallowed up by the months and years and were spit out like a piece of wet chewing gum.
Remember when summers meant fun things, when Saturday afternoons didn’t feel so short, when we didn’t feel like we were constantly running on little energy? Remember thinking that every night out had the possibility to change your life?
Remember when we knew what home meant? It meant the place where our parents were and our bedroom was and all of our posters and collages. There was no flying home for the holidays, no feeling in-between, no trips to IKEA for furniture. Simple. Safe. Smelling pancakes when we woke up on a Sunday morning. This idea of home matters to me way too much though. I develop an attachment to arbitrary things. The other day, I passed a movie theatre in West Hollywood and my heart started to sink because I remembered how I used to go there once a week when I lived in the neighborhood. Seeing it again makes me feel like I have a place here still, like the New Beverly Cinema is just waiting for me to move back and join it again. The movie theatre is somehow proof that my time here mattered, that because I have a favorite movie theatre, restaurant, street, and neighborhood, LA is, in some way, still my home. But it’s not. It hasn’t been for years and I need to just let go of these bizarre attachments I have to places.
Remember when we didn’t know certain things? Or rather, we believed everything people told us? It was easy to gain our respect back then. We were impressed by everything. Everyone was living a more exciting life than you so you trusted them with everything.
Remember when we didn’t constantly test everyone who loved us and drive them out of our lives with our crap? Or was that just me? Do I need to start speaking for myself now? Oh, okay. Got it. No more questions then.