It’s a blank slate, and I’m at a whole new part of my life writing this.
A lot of my dreams have come true. But in growing up, and going through minute by minute, all three hundred and sixty-five days of a year until you get to the present you realize that every new chapter can still surprise you.
I’ve dreamed of moving to New York for almost as long as I can remember, and maybe even before then. In fourth grade, in the very first house I lived in, I remember the moment clearly when I picked up my first edition of a series about the glamorous, artistic life of New York- girls that were Barbie blonde and thin, but full of secrets. I remember the sensation of the paper, the serif text that held the story to the pages, just one layer of reality away from me. That was the first moment I remember being struck by the thought of moving to this city, the biggest and the brightest.
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