I went back to my private blogs and dug up some writing from when I was in my last year of high school and transitioning to college. And even my musings from college.

Wide-eyed, full of fervor and with such spontaneity. Youth reigning supreme.

Reading some of the entries, made me fall in love with my 17-year-old idealistic self. Listening to the songs that accompanied my writing fingers, eliciting innocent bliss.

The high school bonfires, birthday surprises, care free friendships; the time I fell out of love with iced lattes, but fell into cafe dates while he worked; the time I romantically re-capped college to be “drunken nights, with a couple of cardigans left here and there. A few dinner dates, coffee runs and snuggle fests later, grad school will be waiting for you in a post dated envelope”; the person I met once, in a city of 2.5 million, who I hope to find someday; the shows that friends’ bands play, captured by a rained out roof top concert turned living room set; parting with Toronto only to come back from New York enchanted by every avenue, every street and absolutely every thing.

And now here I am.

(Don’t worry, it’s not macabre, or anything.)