I don’t want to look back. I’d rather have a gold-framed painting of those mountains on a wall in the back of my mind next to the old photographs and composition books. All the history, it’s history now. I want new memories, new feelings, new ways for you to look at me and for me to suffer through my stumbling awkwardness that brings all of this (I move my hands motioning to my body) to a screeching halt and leaves me standing in Can’t Say What I Want To Say City, population me.

But we’ve got the rest of our lives for that.

I’m 26.

-Chris