You crazy slut.

A post to speak wonders and something I aspire to as I begin to make the trek into adulthood.

Christie Page

I’ve always known I was different. My earliest memories of playing outside as a child didn’t have me on the playground but running barefoot through the woods on the property behind our house or jumping recklessly into the ocean off of the long pier at our local beach. I never wanted to come inside and felt truly alive when the street lights would come on and I was pushing the envelope of my curfew; you know back in the day when street lights where the gold standard for telling time.

I howled like a wolf at the moon and was convinced that the wind whispered to me. It seemed that when everyone else was eager to get home in time for dinner, I was the dirty footed little girl who would wait just on the edge of our property until that last moment of twilight, soaking it all in and finally…

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