A Love Letter to Taylor Swift

Our song is a slamming screen door

Sneaking out late tapping on your window

When were on the phone and he talks real slow

Cause it's late and your mama don't know

I’m six years old, in the backseat of my mom’s minivan driving to gymnastics practice. My two

year old sister is next to me, and even though she struggles speaking, she’s singing along. I look

into the rearview mirror and my mom makes eye contact with me. She’s singing too. We’re

driving past farms in upstate New York and the snow is piled high. The music is playing, and I

think about how happy I am to be singing with my mom and my sister.

Hey Stephen I know looks can be deceiving

But I know I saw a light in you

And as we walked we would talk

And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to

Two years later and I am eight, in my best friend’s bedroom. We have the Fearless CD in her

stereo, blasting it as loud as her mom would let. Jumping up and down, singing along to "Hey

Stephen," pretending we know anything about boys and relationships and falling in love. Talking

about how we dream our first kisses would be, our first boyfriends, our first loves. Mostly just

singing along with Taylor, hoping it feels the way she describes. When it gets later, and we have

to turn down the music, we don’t turn it off. The guitar strums plays along with our playdates,

reminding us that although we dream about being teenagers, our time now is precious.

This is looking like a contest

Of who can act like they care less

But I liked it better when you were on my side

Still a kid, still dreaming of falling in love. This time in the basement of a friend’s house, using

her computer to watch endless hours of YouTube, many consisting of music videos. I moved from

New York to California, but still found friends to scream along to songs with and pretend we

understood anything about life with.

And I wish I could run to you

And I hope you know that

Every time I don’t

I almost do, I almost do

Middle school, a treacherous time for everybody. Another move had me displaced in North

Carolina, struggling to find my place. I tried my hardest, but could never be truly happy. The

RED album was a saving grace, a distractor. I sat on my bedroom floor, alone, dying of heat,

humidity and loneliness. Taylor’s struggle as a 22 year old pop star did not directly relate with a

sad 12 year old, but I took each lyric as my own, trying to be okay, to find my place.

“Oh, my God, who is she?”

I get drunk on jealousy

But you’ll come back each time you leave

‘Cause darling I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream

By this point I understood my life was full of change, unpredictable. My dad’s job had us move

again, this time across the ocean into a new country. I struggled with coming to terms with it,

being completely new, not even surrounded by my own culture. After North Carolina I wondered

if I would ever find another true friend. But, it was an easier adjustment. Plus, a new album was

out. In science class, instead of doing work, my table of girls would mess about, and talk about

our favorite songs. "Blank Space," the classic, was a popular choice. We would sing the song until

scolded by our teacher for not doing our work. I felt as if I found my place.