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This page looks plain and unstyled because you're using a non-standard compliant browser. To see it in its best form, please upgrade to a browser that supports web standards. It's free and painless.  The Death of My Youth and Beautykim | 01 January, 2006 20:26
This evening I got a phone call from an old friend who never calls me--I knew that someone had died. I knew who that someone was, too. She was the most beautiful, most sought after, most mysterious girl from Junior High School. She modeled. She hung out with older guys. She was fearless. She was not a virgin when I met her, I think, and I met her when we were 12. She overshadowed my most important male relationships: Carl Schoote liked her and I liked him. I wrote as much on the bathroom wall at the St. Mark's Theater, way before they tore it down and replaced it with a GAP. When you could not only smoke in there, but smoke pot in there, too and nobody would say anything. Never mind that you were 12. As well as my most complicated high school relationship, which wasn't a relationship at all but a string of nights, over the course of five years, of me following someone who loved to walk all over me. He was constantly comparing me to her, and I felt her perfect, blonde spectre looming over me at all times. I was not her and would never be her.
so so glad you're alive my dear. so so sad that she is not. kyra | 02/01/2006, 21:36calendar
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