The grass conforms to your bodies like memory foam. Hand in hand you lie together staring at the moon sharing your hopes and dreams.
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Not that bad
The kids can have the costumes. You and your friends are too busy working towards sugar-induced commas on the couch for a scary movie night.
As you sit in the audience with all the other proud parents you cant help but drift back to your ballet debut. Once a sugar plum fairy, always a sugar plum fairy.
Skimming through an old diary you land on page with a memory so clear it might as well be a picture. “Dear Diary, September 7, 2006…he kissed me.”
10 PM. That was pretty late for a five year old. But there you were, every year, with all your siblings fighting a loosing battle against sleep. All so you could catch a glimpse of the man himself.
What your oversized shades don’t cover, your wide brim fedora makes up for. You don’t let the chaos around you break your stride. In the midst of all the young fans and paparazzi, taupe bag in hand, you own the sidewalk like a runway.