betsy oslund

Nostalgia has been the definition of my thoughts this summer. Even though I jumped on a plane and ran away from my past with my hands in the air the day I graduated, I am beginning to wish I could make everything go back to how it used to be. I hate to see people change, move on, and disappear. The innocent have become wild. The wild have become lame. And the lame have become forgotten. Change is inevitable. Change is bittersweet.