Trust how I feel.

I called up Brandon leaving a voice mail regarding my newfound sense of youth.

“Brandon Adams, I have a whole lot of love for you. I was having a bad day and I want to tell you about how I feel about life, I’monna ramble here, but I think it’s so great that we knew each other, and we know eachother, but we knew eachother when we were young and we’ve grown up and I was just looking at some old pictures and you know, Gosh, you’re what, 21? And I’m 20, and you know those have been really good, I mean, I feel like we’ve both had pretty good lives, and we’re So Young really, like we’re pretty much just out of high school and we have so many places we can go, so much time, and I just wanted to tell you how much love I have for you, I sound very high, but really,”

That’s the worst translation of it but it still makes sense, 20 is nothing, like 12 was nothing, like 6 was nothing, like when Maggie broke up with me in sixth grade, NOTHING, when Jenn and I fucked, NO THING.

I do have things ahead of me, and it won’t be a straight line, and I thank God right now for giving me this epiphany, because I think God does do those sort of life-affirming acts, because I was, I’ve been so bad. So unhappy.

I just, I started telling everyone about this, (I’ve written a lot tonight, but it’s weird how things just get bigger and bigger and you realize it, that nothing you’ve done matters yet because you’re just starting, and all your flaws can be changed, and all your mistakes are null and void because that was then and this is now and the friends you made matter, and you’re parents love you [well they love me at least] and having debts, student loans, for the experience of growing up, maybe it’s worth it, and friends do change, and everything’s naïve. I’m naïve right now.

But at least I’m happier.) that I’m not scared of not doing anything anymore because everyday I already am.

My friend Bo gives his rebuttal: What good is youth if you don’t feel alive.

My rebuttal to myself: is 90 nothing? Then what is something.