Don’t Look Too Close Into the Palm of My Hand

When I was nineteen, I was a sophomore at NYU. I had gotten kicked out of film school and took my refuge in the school of arts & sciences where I entered the leagues of lost English majors. I know I lived in a dorm, but I can’t remember any of my roommates. I can remember my favorite bench in Washington Square Park where I spent hours smoking cigarettes and reading and people watching. New York is was and always will the great parade of humanity and I its humble bystander. When I was nineteen, I hadn’t yet fallen in love, I hadn’t found a friend to share my writing with. Much of what I did was secretive: secret eating, secret writing, secret crushes, secret depressive episodes.

Friends, it’s Day 19 and I’m still typing.

What were you like when you were 19?