let lemons be angry

Sometimes, like last night, i feel that i'm dressing up for the empty seat next to me. Will i accumulate enough handbags and gladrags to overflow my wardrobe, and maybe to sell, only to feel this empty? There it will be, my shop, with vintage wallpapering and bouquets of pretty jewelry, handmade bags, classic rock in the background, a world that girls will want to buy a piece of. And how will i tell them the truth, that, contrary to the idea i'm selling, what they wear won't make them who they are? I dress the way i do so that my identity shows through without me having to do anything else. But change the black hoops to silver studs, change the heels to sneakers, and i change completely? When clothes are all you invest in, your identity becomes that flimsy. And sometimes-just sometimes- i feel the consequence of that flimsiness.

But when i am with my sec one girls, i'm completely secure and happy. I never thought i would say this. But when i'm with them, looking at the world through sec one eyes, everything of real importance sifts to the top. And the world looks less menacing. The only temptation to avoid is gossiping, and the only thing we really have to do is pray. Thoughts and promises are simplified to things so basic that survival becomes more possible than ever. And there's the warming knowledge that i'm looked up to, whether i want to be or not. I can't always take part in their very young conversations, or tell them all the things i'd tell a peer, but when each sunday is over, i sink back into happy, happy thoughts.