I don’t want to tell you what this is about. I don’t even really want to write about it, to be honest. Instead, I’ll write about Amy Whitesides.
Can I tell you about Amy? I love her, and she wanted me to write about her, and I’m jazzed, because who better to write about than Amy Whitesides? She’s stunning. I’m not kidding. She likes Cheetos and over-achieving. She’s a cheetah. She’s Roxane, and she’s been kissed a lot.
I love Amy. I’m not just saying that because she asked me to write about her. I’m being real with you. She’s suddenly, over the last three and a half weeks or so, become a part of my life that I don’t know how I lived without for sixteen and a half years. She’s a beast to costume, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And when she gets speaking Spanish, I think it is so amazing. The words fit so comfortably in her mouth -- it was her first language, but you’d never know that. Her family's from Columbia, ergo the Spanish. Like they speak in Spain. Spain -- in Europe. Spain, west of Italy.
And I guess that's what this is about: Italy.
Amy is easier to write about, though. I'd rather tell you about my friend Amy and the way she is so funny than discuss Italy, but that's what's really going on: Italy.
I wish I could say, "Hey, stop being real life, Italy," to Italy. I wish I could say, "Hold your horses, Italy," or "Wait two more months, yeah, Italy?" But Italy, of course, wouldn't listen to me. Italy is a country, my friends, it's a member of the EU, and I'm still in high school. So I just scream a lot of things like, "HEY, ITALY! JUST BE CAREFUL, OKAY?!" When I left on Thursday, Kasey said, "Be safe, okay?" Okay. Tell everyone to be safe in Italy, too.
And it matters too much sometimes. And then it matters too little.
And this isn't about anything except for the way time moves too fast. This isn't really about what you think it's about. It's about the way the sand doesn't stay between my fingers for long enough and how Amy cried when she said she loved Benjamin on Saturday, so please don't over-think or over-analyze this.
It's just about how everything -- everything -- happens so quickly. Time flies when time happens, and then you're left with nothing but a party hat and a few bruises.
The Universe will save us with red sneakers.
All my love,