One my way there I instantly imagined that those particular mean boys from fifth grade were there. It didn’t matter that I was 23 now, it didn’t matter that my father was next to me, it didn’t matter that I was taller and prettier now, better, bigger, leaving for New York now. They were not there. Nobody was there. I was alone in front of the school – twelve years of running late, twelve years of crying, twelve years of laughing, twelve years of being the first in line.

The road opens and widens whenever I feel like going back.

There is sun in my hair, there is sun in my eyes.

There are plastic flowers on my head and a wish for longer legs.

There are memories not one thousand successful blog entries can erase.

I have learned to live along them.

I went and I posed, and that’s that.

pictures on film by dad