betty

Youth is always dramatic - even when everything seems simple. The wind smells like summer, the floorboards creak underfoot, and somewhere out there, on the other side of the street, lives a person you no longer know how to look in the eye. All the adults assure you that “it will pass,” but inside it feels like a Shakespearean tragedy - only with sneakers and a party instead of a balcony.

Embarrassed sincerity, confusion, and a little hope - like a note you put in your backpack and then are afraid to read. The mistakes here are not fateful, but simply the first ones. Love is not grand, but it is real: clumsy, fragile, smelling of August and shame for ruining everything, not knowing what to do.