A while has transpired between then and now.
Now in this city I live in a lonelyhood of numerous ambitious people, some like me, some very different from me but all of us questioning our presence.
I never understood why boats have to made of paper, and that's the important question.
I don't know how long it will take me to allow myself to get scared again.
If I ceased to exist for one day I know my life would be entirely different.
I feel like every thought in my head might offend someone.
Maybe the trick to living a long life is procrastination.
Are we just the sum total of all our experiences? Maybe...
I'm shaping this year like a potter at a wheel, and of course, I've had a few failed attempts.
A world of justice is now an aspirational caricature on a graffiti wall.