This was me:

curls briefly permanent,

my pen poised on your promises

recording adoration,

lists of lingering longings,

the angst of my adolescence,

my imaginary reality,

of dreams carved from your

calls and letters.

Feeling freely at fifteen,

that was me.

 ..

I had written a lot of poetry for and about a boy I admired, and for his 18th birthday, I compiled them all into a book, in calligraphy, each was recorded in a blank red ‘leather’ book.  In the top left photo you see the calligraphy pen I used.  In the top right you see the book itself on my lap.  The photo on the bottom left ended up as the ‘author photo’ in the book.

These portraits were taken by a young woman who worked for my mom.  Her name was Lindy, and she was from Nova Scotia.  I often wonder what she has done since returned to the East Coast.

In the bottom right you can see a bit of the 4″ wedge canvas Candies I wore to death that summer.  Always a shoe girl.   I loved those suspender jeans (by Pulse, my favourite brand).  They’re probably still in a box around here somewhere, waiting for me to be 106 lbs again. Oh, those innocent teen years when I was still a brunette! 😉

PS. The more I think about this, the more I’m sure I lied in this poem.  I got that perm after a dare from Mark, whom I met the summer I was 16, so this must have been the spring / summer that I was 17.  Hmm.  With necessary poetic licence, I’m going to keep the ‘fifteen’ in there.  But you’ll know it’s not factual, okay?