Coming to America

There I was on a Saturday night curled up on my bed with my androgynous bear Rainbow wishing I could go back to the days where failure meant a B on a calculus test and a broken heart was just a slight sting when your crush asked another girl to the dance. But instead, I sat in my studio trying to lose myself in Eddie Murphy’s contagious laugh, trying to forget the end to another relationship and wondering how life became so lonely.

“…nothing was simple [then], not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

A Moveable Feast
- Ernest Hemingway