I’m 15 again, or 17, or 25, and all of it.
I’m boy crazy and wishing I had the confidence that I have at 35 when I was 15. All the fear I had then of boys and rejection… so much so that I didn’t want any positive attention for the overload that it would cause my heart… would be muted by the experience I have now, by the knowledge that those boys feel the same fear of girls and rejection. To be amongst eager young men, so willing to impress and explore feelings of rampant emotional intimacy, so willing to get hurt for only the chance at feeling loved, to be near this all with what I know now, with less fear, would be so much fun.
Instead, like then, I remain completely taken with stories of love… particularly young love because it is the most passionate, lavish, raw, soul shattering, naked, blisteringly vulnerable love I’ve ever seen. I’m a fan.
Of that and all kinds of blistering emotions.