The world rushes through us. We are peaceful. We are as deep and black as space. Staring up at the stars, we see only our own image reflected back at us. We are infinite and we are ravenous.

The summer following the winter that my mother took off into something called Women's Land for what I could only guess would be all eternity, my father decided that there was no choice but for him to quit his despised job and take me and my brother to the beach for at least the entire summer and possibly longer.

We have learned by now that our beauty does not count as a possession. The only thing we truly own is our legend.

Being a man is bullshit maybe trying to be a man had been the problem all along. At a certain point you just have to trust someone. Even if it’s only yourself.