makeover

On a bookshelf in an awkward wood floor room that lies at the center of my childhood home is a seventh grade yearbook with white pages in the front and back smothered in ten year old Gelly Roll ink in all colors of the rainbow and beyond: artificial human made shades like silvery glitter gobs practically invisible and neon pinks that can burn your eyes in the right light. Words in the latter, in handwriting all too thought-out with popularity and social status in mind, say LYLAS and KIT with accompanying phone numbers to land lines that probably don't exist anymore. And one thing that says GIRL WE HAVE TO GET TOGETHER AND GIVE YOU A MAKEOVER STAY SWEET CALL ME!

hearts and stars and bad cursive

Hollywood where are they now?

And I figure out that this is just as fleeting. We are adults and truly behaviorists, it's become instinctual as we've gotten better at signing our names and taking photographs, and we've formed stable identities that can deal with many situations - we don't grow out of our clothes anymore.

favorite movie favorite song favorite food

maybe the moral I'm searching for is that the building may change

but the foundations are still the same

and i didn't ever call that bitch.