I'm your teenage prayer.

"You might think I'm not somebody,
you might think I'm nowhere
But I'm here to tell you I'm your teenage prayer."

There's a first time for everything. It just so happened that my spur of the moment trip to New York City presented me with an overwhelming amount of firsts; all of which I find nearly impossible to realize (and at times, accept) as truth. Looking back, all I can do is smile and wonder (only briefly) what my life would be like if I wasn't in it.

I spent half of my trip with clothes on, the other half was spent naked. Half of the nudity was expected, the other half was anticipated. I was happier with my clothes off. It was freeing. And for the first time in my life I felt (on some level) desirable. I realize it's not important to feel this way, but in the spirit of first times I think it's important to mention. I stumbled upon a few heartbreaking love stories and did my best to avoid becoming one. I think I survived (another first) although not entirely. I'm much too sensitive to be a tally mark on a bed post, but I'm dealing with it. I'm growing up. And even though my feelings and actions were only temporary, I now know what I want in permanence.

Flashbulbs against bare skin, neglected naps, twin bed closeness, avoiding eye contact, kissing races, Miller High Life, sweet and sour smells of Chinatown, warm and saturated sleep, city summer sun, free condoms and matches, trampoline nudity, tourists with crinkled maps, productive showers, lunch under grapevines, apathetic subway rides, models on street corners, loose tobacco, borrowed lighters, wanting to call someone mister just to spite you, drunken 2am pizza, walk/don't walk ignorance, grocery store oneness, not calling someone mister because I can't without you, vertically inclined in a vertical city, being called "Fucking Hipsters", fabricated truth, manufactured lies, over exposure, nylons ripped in fervor, walking tall, a song about a love song, release form release.

After my car dropped me off at the airport I stood outside and had a cigarette. I decided that I couldn't go back. If I were to go back home nothing would ever change and if I were to stay nothing would ever be the same. I came up with a plan (not much of one, really) where I would purposefully miss my flight. By the time my cigarette was finished I walked back to the sidewalk and waited for a taxi back to the city where I would call my parents to tell them how I couldn't come back. A taxi pulled up beside me and my luggage. I hesitated. With tears in my eyes, I waved him off.

I wanted to stay.
I couldn't leave.
I had to go.
I couldn't come.

Life is so beautiful in its randomness.
I would be a fool not to appreciate every little surprise.

(unfinished entry. to be edited.)