That time when I was 17

Me, three hours ago.

Me, about three hours ago.

Today I was mistaken to be 17 years old, albeit mature for my age.

I remember seventeen– almost half my life ago now– as one of the best years of any in my memory. Perhaps on a warm evening that summer I’d wished fervently to stay that way forever. Perhaps it came true.

A more logical conclusion: Those Avon moisturizing day creams with “SPF” my mom has been supplying me with since high school have been laced with pixie dust.

Obviously.

About madeline

a digital media pro w/ lots to learn. just the way i like it. i read, learn, and blog something new bi-weekly (on average). View all posts by madeline

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