this song is a time capsule. i am fourteen years old. rhinestones in my hair. Celebrity Skin. slinky silver chainmail dress. cheap combat boots. i dream of holden and charlie the wallflower and a pizza boy. first deck of tarot cards. first year of high school. i quit writing books and start writing poetry. my bedroom is huge and purple. i make collages on my bulletin board every week. odelay odelay odelay. i stare at a light blue volkswagen beetle and wish wish wish until it’s mine. my mom wants me to take home ec, but i take art instead. i go to dances and don’t dance. my two best friends are boys and they come over every friday and we drink mt. dew and listen to rage against the machine. the heartache is years ahead of me.
twenty-eight. i listen to “malibu” and think about digging out the rhinestones and eyelash glue. thrifted combat boots and walmart dresses. i have a husband and a crush on charlie’s best friend. i finally know how to read the tarot. i am writing books again. my volkswagen doesn’t run anymore so i drive a stupid blue saturn with three doors. my bedroom is small and red. i paint every week. i still don’t dance. my two best friends are (different) boys and we eat Indian food and listen to the kills on sunday afternoons. and the heartache is finally years behind me.