Wednesday, April 21

Portrait of the blogger as a little kid

After reading Michael's post today, all I could think of was this picture of myself. I'm 8 years old, it's summertime, and I'm at my grandma's house. That's all I remember about this picture (other than I freaking loved that dress, and it had the cutest little shawl that matched). But when I picture myself as a kid, this is what I picture -- look at that grin. Goddamn. I don't remember why I was happy, though I always loved being at my grandma's house and I'm sure my grandma took this picture. (And she used to keep it tacked to her bulletin board -- hence the imperfections in the scan. I like them, though.)

The photograph just says joy to me. And I want it back. I know we can't go home again, and my innocent sweetness is long gone, but I want to be happy for no reason. I don't want to think about what I should be doing, or where my life should be going. I want to smile like that more. Not all the time, just more.

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