The first time I ever did laundry, I forgot to put soap in. I realized this when I took the clothes out and they were soaking wet but still dirty. I asked my mom if I had to run them through again and she said yes. I thought maybe the water was enough.
The first time I shaved my legs I cut myself in three or four places and was so confused how the tiniest of nicks could burn for so long.
The first time I was stung by a bee, I was in my neighbor’s front yard. Her name was Ally. I fell on the grass and stared up at the sky like: oh. This is how I die. Her older sister called me brave because I didn’t cry. But I cried a lot when I got home.
The first time somebody told me they loved me I was wearing a black coat with the hood up. It lasted about two months after that and it was not really love.
The first time someone told me I was going to hell, I was fourteen and they were fourteen and they were dead serious and probably thought they were doing me some huge favor, letting me know early, so as to give me time to prepare myself.
The first time I moved somewhere for no good reason was when I was eighteen. I picked my college because it was close to the ocean.
The first time I admitted I was wrong was… well, I don’t know. I maybe haven’t done that yet.
photographs taken in Solstice Canyon, Malibu, California
with a Canon 60D.