“my eyesight is not nearly as good. my hearing is probably going away. my memory is slipping too. but I’m still around.” // j. wooden
the year i turned thirteen, was a very bad year indeed.
there were no soft summer nights, no lights, no village green, when i was thirteen.
instead, what there was, was a hormonal muddle of bad skin, unruly hair, braces, and eyesight that was about to go very, very murky. to say that a gentler and somewhat cuter late adolescence was hard won, would be an unkindness to the very definition of the word understatement. thank goodness for a sense of humor, and a brooding love of all things depeche mode, black clothes, and big-soled dr. martens.
the brunt of that laundry list of physical burdens still plague me, but they’re much simpler to deal with (and scoff at) – as long as you have means enough for a good hair stylist, a better brand of concealer, and health-coverage for a monthly therapist visit.
my eyesight, of course, is worse – but, at least one can look chic and almost intellectual – instead of solely scholastic and utterly derpy, with a good pair of specs.
➝ source : emerald green 0772 via cutler and gross
➝ source : watts in blue sapphire via warby parker
➝ source : afton in workmen grey via oliver peoples
➝ source : 180 in black via linda farrow