Seven years ago, I was someone else entirely, trying on different hats to see which one fit best, which skin I was comfortable with sharing. Seven years ago, he was this bright-eyed dishwasher with soap under his nails, wearing overstretched shirts, trying to find his dream, and in the present, he was glossy and sure of himself, though when he smiled, the cracks showed, and they were cracks that most people probably
