Instagram story viewer> @surrealjerry> Post

Jerry Rodriguez

@surrealjerry

9 years ago

83

2

Posted On: August 13th 2017, 04:00 am

Tagged Users:

@brandoncserrano

brandoncserrano

@tmuwill

@kelv.r

@surrealjerry

@adrian.m.p5

Comments (2)

tmuwill

9 years ago

tmuwill

We litt @amber_w_915

little_brown_pixi

9 years ago

little_brown_pixi

Yo Wilson, I got that same pink shirt!!!! 😝😂

More posts

People say I’m impulsive and maybe so. What people may not be aware of is my level of patience, because I love a surprise bitch moment and that can be from any direction in my life. I will cry, I will complain, I will crash out, however I will come back up every👏🏼 single 👏🏼time 👏🏼 doing whatever it takes for as long as it takes.

•
•
‏وزارة العمل: تحديث حالة البحث عن عمل خطوة مهمة لاستمرارية ⁧‫#منفعة_الأمان_الوظيفي‬⁩.

Follow madhav guidenes 💯

Best album out!!!!! I go by the name Papoose

💜

#instagood #trending #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #instagram #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

She was born with the kind of face people wrote songs about and the kind of heart nobody bothered to know. In the summer of ’67, she drifted through California in white dresses and borrowed perfume, belonging to the hours between the last song on the radio and the first light of morning. Everyone wanted a piece of her. Nobody wanted the whole.

In Laurel Canyon, beneath ceilings thick with cigarette smoke, wild-eyed boys preached revolution, poetry, and immortality, never noticing the girl beside them was quietly disappearing. One night, in a house above Sunset Boulevard, someone placed a battered tambourine in her hands. Moonlight spilled across Persian rugs as the room swayed with the beautiful arrogance of people who believed they would live forever.

She shook the tambourine, and something inside her broke open. She wanted to be the one playing it. Not the forgotten girl behind the singer, not the beautiful stranger in somebody’s photograph, not the tragic muse whose suffering made men feel like poets.

She wanted to make the noise. To be heard. She was tired of being a pretty place for other people to bury their loneliness, tired of being called unforgettable by people who forgot her before sunrise. So she left. Barefoot, carrying her shoes in one hand and the tambourine in the other, she walked down the canyon road beneath a sky indifferent to human suffering. Behind her, the party continued. No farewell. No footsteps chasing hers. Only distant music and the intoxicating freedom of having nowhere to belong.

At dawn, she watched the sun bleed gold over LA. In the merciless morning light, she was neither angel nor goddess, neither somebody’s dream nor somebody’s ruin. And God, how beautiful it was to belong to herself.

She played the tambourine for the empty road, for every girl adored by thousands and known by no one. Nobody applauded. She smiled anyway. Some girls become legends; others spend their lives escaping the stories people write about them. She would become both.

Beyond the smog, the billboards, and the boys who mistook possession for love, a new life waited. This time, she would be the one making the music.
-Elvira 🎼