The days of our lives were spent listening to Bob Marley’s songs at the tiny house named after him. They were spent dancing to Live Yourself Up, getting wounds on our feet by stepping on the slivers of stained glass, and letting the blood flow to the beat of the passionate reggae like a vivid red river, coloring the dewy green grass with its rage. They were spent spraying bottles of wall paint on to each other’s faces to add a little color to life, they were spent telling each other that we couldn’t sing, and realizing that we didn’t care.
They were spent walking down offbeat roads and throwing our arms up towards the sky, letting the winds capture all that we wanted to release. They were spent letting our hair down and dressing in what defined us, because those days were all about being ourselves.