It’s Easy To Be Yourself

I Was Aware Too How Strange Adults Were, How Theirs Lives Were Vaster Than They Wanted Anyone To Realize, That They Actually Stretched On And On Like Deserts, Dry And Desolate, With An Unpredictable, Shifting Sea Of Dunes.

Life Had Been A Suit I'd Only Put On For Special Occasions. Most Of The Time I Kept It In The Back Of My Closet, Forgetting It Was There. We Were Meant To Die When It Was Barely Stitched Anymore, When The Elbows And Knees Were Stained With Grass And Mud, Shoulder Pads Uneven From People Hugging You All The Time, Downpours And Blistering Sun, The Fabric Faded, Buttons Gone.

Dad's Theory Of Arrogance--that Everyone Always Assumes They're The Principal Character Of Desire And/or Loathing In Everybody Else's Broadway Play.

It's Not Fair. It's Not. But Then, That's The Game. It Makes Life Great. The Fact That It Ends When We Don't Want It To. The Ending Gives It Meaning.

…deep-diving Love, A Love That Excavates You. It’s Something You Have To Have Before You Die In Order To Have Lived.