These photographs were taken on Sunday, 19th August 2018. It was my birthday and I had turned 24.
At the time I was certain I would publish them here but I never got around to it. (I’m as tired of giving excuses for inconsistency as you are of hearing them so just pick your favourite from my usual assortment – school, life, depression, fear of success, fear of failure, laziness, etc.)
I imagined that when I finally posted them, I would be talking about how ageing is a cosmic cruelty that angers me to my core; that growing older frightens me and that passing time shakes my being something awful; that I fucking hate birthdays and damn all the forces involved in this awful process.
But now, as I post them, my thoughts veer toward vanity, not venom. (I look so pretty. Look at those hot coco legs, girl!) They veer toward nostalgia, not negativity (I was so happy that day!) They veer toward gratitude, not grief (I’m so thankful self-acceptance gets easier the older you get).
I think of myself then, thinking of myself now and it fills me with glee to know I’m in a far better place than what I could have imagined for myself. And to know that there is a charm, not just cruelty, in the passing of time.