Then one day I looked upon a mirror and saw an old old man.
The boy doesn't think about his feet when he runs. He thinks about where he wants to go and how fast he can get there. He doesn't think about his 2 o'clock or his early call, he just climbs towards the roof to get above the chaos that surrounds him. He doesn't know that he will eventually get tired of solving the same problems that plague every man and woman that ever grew up. That he will make excuses and compromises to get just what he needs. That someday there will be no one to blame and no where to hide. It will just be him against the world. He will wish that it could go back to the wonder and the excitement of inexperience when he didn't know that every emotion has a purpose, that no desire is unique, and that hope only exists because it must. But he will stop wishing because he cannot afford the real estate in his heart. He will force himself to abandon the curiosity that led him into freedom as a child for a calculating manipulative shell that hangs between fear and insecurity. He will become proficient enough to