ID: 7151151
Before my first real boyfriend broke up with me, he told me who he wished I could be: someone who would take mushrooms and stay out on the beach with him all night, who would yell when she got mad and wouldn’t give a fuck when he yelled back. Someone who’s not afraid of anything, he said, and my throat tightened with the knowledge that I was about to cry.
I was 19 and afraid of a lot of things, like parallel parking on the psychedelically steep hills of San Francisco, and making unprotected left turns during rush hour.