I'm back in Colombia right now.

sometimes I have obnoxious moments where I blow (literally) hundreds of dollars to do something outrageously and irresponsibly spontaneous. sometimes I stand outside in the middle of the coldest day all year and just stand so still so still sooo still until I can't feel my hands anymore and until I've convinced myself the (raging, horrifying, piercing) wind has taken me away.


and then I go inside to thaw out and drink cocoa and bundle up and cancel all of those stupid reservations and plans.
and I remember the reality of the upcoming days. and I'm happy.
and things are lonely sometimes, yes. but I am 20 years old, dear god, I am only 20 years old.
I am 20 years old and I am happy as all hell. what do I need to worry about loneliness for? what do I want to worry about boring myself to tears for? even if... well, even if... even if, the fact of the matter is that I am still...

I am still
still
still
only 20 years old.


don't you remember? for nearly half of my life now I've cadenced the mantra: "I am flawed if I'm not free."

I am flawed if I'm not free.
free at last, free at last.