I remember running around town with my 35mm camera as a teen, thinking I was so misunderstood, the first person to feel the kind of feelings I was feeling for the first time ever. But it wasn’t true, I just couldn’t see it yet.
On the weekends, my friends and I would pile into our local town hall where rock bands played music to the feel of our bodies beating together in the dark. Each of us hoping that one day we could find a way to harness what we felt inside there, back out in the hectic world that somehow always felt against us, even when I was sure it wasn’t. There was a kind of quiet safety in the loud numbers of people, all different yet the same, studded boots, ripped tights, wild neon hair, dye running down the backs of necks of the brave ones, sweaty tears, and pure elated joy from the shy ones.
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