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(this post was reblogged from sippey)
Part of what I want to tell you is what it is like to be young in New York, how six months can become eight years with the deceptive ease of a film dissolve, for that is how those years appear to me now, in a long sequence of sentimental dissolves and old-fashioned trick shots—the Seagram Building fountains dissolve into snowflakes, I enter a revolving door at twenty and come out a good deal older, and on a different street.
Didion (via sippey)
I remember sitting in my North Carolinian grandparents’ kitchen eating supper and my grandfather explaining how one day when he was somewhere in his early twenties, he looked in the mirror and saw a man looking back, and from that moment forward, that was the mental image he carried of himself. Everyday after that moment, he would look in the mirror and see another man. Five decades passed by, and each day during that time, he would ask who that man in the mirror was, because it wasn’t the man he saw himself as.
I tell myself this story almost daily.
I remember sitting in my North Carolinian grandparents’ kitchen eating supper and my grandfather explaining how one day when he was somewhere in his early twenties, he looked in the mirror and saw a man looking back, and from that moment forward, that was the mental image he carried of himself. Everyday after that moment, he would look in the mirror and see another man. Five decades passed by, and each day during that time, he would ask who that man in the mirror was, because it wasn’t the man he saw himself as.
I tell myself this story almost daily.
