![]() "Kiss me in the P-A-R-K park tonight." This is so me, I'd think to myself, skipping into Central Park in the dead of night. "Kiss me in the D-A-R-K dark tonight," she'd croon. I'd throw on my headphones, which were plugged into my phone through a wire, and hit play on Lana's latest. I can vividly recall slipping into my denim short-shorts, a push-up bra, and skimpy tank-top, then rushing out of the house to meet him. The summer we began seeing each other (read: hooking up in pantries) coincided with the 2012 release of Born To Die. He was my first for many things, like penetrative sex and crying on Valentine's Day. I have never once regretted our relationship we experienced countless milestones together. We both liked making out to Drake on the weekends, but the similarities ended there. We were two young, inexperienced, and - quite frankly - horny teenagers. The opening chords of "Lolita" immediately transport me back to the very start of dating my high school boyfriend, if you can call what we were doing dating. Folks, I was absolutely and completely overcome with nostalgia. Suddenly, I felt as if I was starring in my own black-and-white movie the kind that requires subtitles and dramatic orchestral interludes. But as I scrolled through the playlist, one song stood out from the rest: " Lolita," from Del Rey's debut album, Born To Die.Even reading its title sent tiny beads of anxiety-induced sweat down my forehead. I've seen her perform live five times (including that infamous SNL gig), and I'd wager that I could sing 90% of her songs from memory. This was in no way shocking intel - I've been following Lana Del Rey since the turn of the decade, back when she was going by her legal name, Lizzie Grant. Today, in unsurprising news, my phone informed me that my Spotify "Best of the Decade" artist was Lana Del Rey.
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