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I made friends with the homeless people in the park because their level of motivation and engagement in society matched mine more closely than anyone else I could find.
My mother occasionally tried expressing to me that I should cut her a break because she now had to be both my mother and my father.
When I thought about the part of a typical wedding reception where the groom dances with his mother and the bride dances with her father, I seriously considered not having a reception at all.
But planning a wedding, being deliriously happy and in love, there was no denying that I was moving on.
My life philosophy revolved around the fact that I didn’t plan to live past my twenties, so it didn’t matter if the drugs I took were cut with all kinds of toxic chemicals or if a fourteen-year-old girl really shouldn’t walk alone on Avenue D at three in the morning.
I smoked cigarettes not in spite of the fact that they’d shorten my life, but hoping they would.
I cried not just for the end of that perfect weekend, but for the next week, when we’d be back in different cities, on opposite sides of the country.
I cried for the coming summer, when I’d eat ice cream alone and wish he was there walking and joking with me.