She sat on my bed looking through a pile of records and I tried to keep the self-conscious diatribe to myself. She had scoffed when I put Toto on the turntable, so I wasn’t sure what the verdict would be on my collection. As she rifled through the sleeves, I reevaluated my decor choices. The yellow walls, for all the twinkling lights and urban outfitters tapestries, still felt immature and quaint to somebody as worldly as she. Sitting there in perfectly distressed jeans, a baggy Mind the Gap shirt, and wool socks, she was a modern goddess, and I was essentially a trash can.
[Written November 26th, 2016]