We Were Both Young When I First Saw You

I can count on less than one hand how many times I've fallen in love. In fact, I can't really count considering once love ends it almost feels like it didn't happen. It's like, you spend time so much time trying to forget that it actually works. In hindsight, I'm grateful for the opportunities to get to know and love myself through others. I appreciate my ability to see the potential in someone else, and someone else's ability to love me inspite of all the Elyse-ness that happens.

In a time when I find myself craving solitude, I can't help but be grateful, because that craving means that I get to experience it all.

I ain't from Dallas but I D-town Boogie

I wouldn't consider myself very rebellious as a teenager. In fact, there were very few things I did that deviated from my parent's expections of me... That standard was hard to maintain as I got older, but up until I was about 17 I was the poster child for obedience.

My biggest 'rebellion' stemmed from a group a boys who lived in Dallas, about 3 hours away from my home. I don't remember if I was in love with any certain one of them or with the group of them or with the idea that they were very infatuated with me... All I remember was that in between my busy social calendar senior year I would always try to find time to drive up and see one or all of them... Sometimes with.. and sometimes without my parents knowing.

This memory stems from the fact that today I am headed to Dallas. In 2004, if I was going to Dallas the days leading up to my trip were filled with fervent anticipation. Although this is a work trip, the city that in my adolescence caused so much trouble for me still gives me a bit of excitement to visit.

Flashback

When I was a sophomore in high school I had a crush on a senior from a neighboring high school. We had mutual friends and he was dreamy and I had just grown boobs, so obviously we were perfect.

I don't know how or why this happened, but at some point in our juvenile relationship he began wearing a small green wrist band that I gave him. It was small enough to be forgettable, but Lime Greem enough for me to notice.

Only his friends and my friends knew what it meant, however, it was the deepest form of commitment that I needed. It was an unspoken display of security.

Ten years later, I am wondering how to muster that courageous naivety so as to feel secure from such a small token.