On January 3, 2004 (I was 16) I wrote:
“Love with lust is passion
Love with faith is religion
Love with heart is belief
Love with words is seduction
Love with money is greed
Love with ache is remembrance
Love with meaning is unknown
Love with truth is forgotten
Love with consequence is war”
I think 16-year-old me had a point: love is in all things, and in all things, love.
What 16-year-old me forgot:
Love with trust…love with honesty…love with sadness…love with lies.
There are a lot more (but don’t tell her that). I have chosen not to fill in those blanks because, to tell you the truth, I have no idea what they should be. When you’re 16, you think you know what the world is like; but let me tell you, I’m 24 and I have no clue what it’s all about—unless you’re a HUGE fan of the hokey pokey and then it’s only about one thing (still not sure on the specifics).
An on-the-spot poem about being 16:
Dad,
stop telling me what time
I should come home,
because I’m already old enough
to drive,
almost old enough,
to drink—
overseas—
and definitely old enough
to fall in love.
And Dad,
I won’t come home
singing about keeping
my baby
because I’m responsible enough
to say no
until I’m ready,
smart enough,
to say no
when he says, “please”
and definitely old enough
to say no,
when he says,
“But I love you.”
And when you say,
but you’re not old enough to know love
then I’ll say,
without hesitation,
“I love you.”
And you’ll let me stay out,
an extra half hour.