What paused me was not the way that I feel as if i've grown past it, but really, I felt impossibly younger than the girl who would park the rust- colored Stanza, and sleep walk up those stairs yonder, at 5 am each morning(Brother Bowcutt's early morning seminary be durned) and slumber with him in his little nest, before she'd leave him still sleeping, one and a half hours later. This morning ritual that got me through a day.

But my favorite was when you'd lurk in the dark, on the couch by the door, when I expected you to be deep in sleep. And what, you would pounce very suddenly as I crept to your room. You were a good boy.

But so this youngness I felt. It's actually a hindrance that unfolds itself daily. I'm anxious about what people think of me. I dress like a child, probably because I feel like one, even in the eyes of my peers.